Pater, et Filius
by Inks Inc
Summary: Nothing about him was easy. When Peter met Neal, he never dreamed of what their relationship was to become. He could never know how much he would want to shield Neal from the dangers of his past and present. Sometimes though, the most dangerous thing in Neal's life..was Neal. How do you protect someone from themselves? WARNING:Spanking. Sequel to "The Trust Equation." COMPLETED.
1. Informants Ire

"I said _no_."

A dramatic sigh accompanied with the beginnings of a pout shone back in answer.

"Do you know any other words other than _no?"_

A quiet pondering and the beginnings of a reluctant smile shone back in answer.

"…no."

Neal rolled his eyes and stood up to begin a bout of agitated pacing, working his way around the tight space of the glass encased office the two men were seated in.

Running a hand through his now longer than what Peter would consider acceptable hair, Neal opened his mouth to agitate him further.

"There is no reasonable basis for saying no."

The agent in the room merely rolled his eyes at this and pointed towards the office exit.

"My name on the door is _plenty_ reasonableness."

Throwing himself back down in the chair he had just vacated, Neal continued to glower darkly in the direction of a supremely unperturbed Peter.

"You enjoy making my life a misery."

Snorting into his coffee cup, the elder of the two couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him.

"What are you _twelve_?"

Instead of the witty retort he was expecting, the kid just looked at him silently for a minute before rising from the chair.

"I guess that's my answer then…I'll get back to work now _sir."_

With that, he turned on his heel and began to stride from the office.

"Neal…? C'mon kid I was only joking, I-"

The sharp snapping of the door cut him off and he watched helplessly as the tense poise of his informant slammed his way back into his chair. His eyes narrowed in confusion as he snatched a file from the precarious pile that balanced on his desk, slamming it down on his desk.

Shaking his head in an all too familiar bout of being utterly nonplussed, Peter sighed before returning to his own ever expanding batch of case reports.

He had no idea what Neal expected from him.

He had bent the rules so far out of shape for that kid over the years that there was a permanent dent in them. He made allowances where he could…but this?

It wasn't doable and he couldn't make it happen, no matter how much the kid thought he could.

He looked up from a particularly dry investment scheme, to the sight of Neal's dark head buried deep in a file. He could practically _feel_ the sullen waves radiating off him penetrate his glass walls. He watched as Neal shot a dazzling smile in the pretty mail clerk's direction, before looking up at his office and scowling.

Lovely.

Dropping his head back into his asinine investment heist, Peter sighed and pushed the attitude to the back of his mind.

For now.

He worked steadily, and before long his stomach was the only thing alerting him to the time passing by. Feeling a pang of hunger, he glanced at the clock and saw it was lunch time.

Recalling the wounded look that had crossed over Neal's face as he'd teased him, he figured bringing him to that raw food bar that he liked might take the edge off.

Even if it meant lunching on freaking pistachios.

Standing and grabbing his coat, he made his way out of the office and made a beeline for his informant's desk.

Rolling his eyes, he cleared his throat by way of announcement when the kid steadfastly ignored his obvious presence.

So much for hoping he would be over it.

Whatever the hell _"it"_ was.

When the reluctant eyes were dragged up, he forced himself to remember that it had to be hard for Neal living in such a vibrant city with a two mile limitation.

Of course, as he reminded him frequently, it could be a _lot_ worse.

Well…not _as_ frequently as he used to, not since El had subjected him to a long lecture about how insensitive he could be to Neal's…stifled soul?

He snorted at the memory.

Jolting back to the present, he shrugged on his jacket.

"Come on bud, let's go grab something to eat."

Neal stared for just a fraction of a second before shaking his head slightly.

"No thanks, not hungry."

Peter sighed.

"Yes, you _are_ hungry…you haven't eaten since that one banana you had on the way here. Now come on, we can go to that rabbit food place you like."

The eyes lit up at the mention of the restaurant, but they clouded over again a few moments later and the head shook once more.

"No, you go on. I've got a lot of work to do, _apparently_ I'm months behind on my summaries."

Peter rolled his eyes once again.

"You _are_ months behind on your summaries, but that doesn't mean you're not allowed to eat. Now could you please stop giving me a hard time and come on?"

Neal choked indignantly.

" _Me_ giving _you_ a hard time? Pot, kettle, black springs to mind."

Leaning over his charges desk and practising his soothing breathing Peter remained calm. It was quite the achievement.

"Neal…drop the attitude please. Now you can stay here for lunch if you want to, but you're not nipping out anywhere later if you do. Everyone gets the same lunch period, and you can't swan in and out as you choose. Ok?"

The blue eyes that stared back at him suddenly turned glacial.

"Why don't you just go to hell Peter" the kid but out threw gritted teeth, "I'll be just fine, lunch or no lunch."

The elder man's jaw all but dropped, both at the level of cheek and the suddenly scathing tone being directed towards him.

"Didn't I _just_ tell you to drop the attitude?" he ground out, through equally clenched teeth.

The rolling eyes did nothing to improve his growing ire.

"I don't know, did you?"

That was it.

"Alright. You stay here and sulk, knock yourself out. However, I come back and find you're still throwing that tone around, and you and I are going to be having a much more in depth chat. Clear?"

A heated snort was his answer.

Closing his eyes and keeping his arms firmly by his sides to resist the familiar urge of _strangling_ the kid, Peter took a deep calming breath.

"I _said_ is that clear?"

Jumping to his feet Neal snapped to a mocking salute and stared icily ahead.

"Yes your majesty, it's _clear."_

Ok no… _that_ was it.

Shrugging off his jacket and being supremely glad that the office was now practically empty save for a filing clerk who sent an askance look in Neal's direction before bolting from the office, Peter opened his mouth.

"Ok. You've done it, congratulations kid. We're going to have that chat _now."_

Throwing himself back down in his chair Neal glowered sullenly.

"Well yeah, that's what it's called when people _talk_ Peter. Unless we're talking about _you,_ in which case…its mostly just grunting. Suits your IQ I guess."

The jaw dropped another inch.

Peter had known Neal to be cheeky, insolent and downright scathing, but never…never just _mean_.

He closed his eyes and calmed himself down a fraction of a fraction before speaking once more.

"Go to the conference room and wait for me there please Neal."

His voice, even to him, was loaded with an anger he didn't often possess.

The boy looked up at him impassively from his desk, clearly deciding whether or not to obey the clear command.

Eventually, and much to Peter's relief, he stood, albeit with a snarl and swept past him. His usual flawless manners where nowhere to be seen as he roughly brushed against his shoulder, and stormed from the communal office space and out of sight.

Leaving a thoroughly confused, and not that he'd ever admit it, quite upset Agent Burke in his wake.

 _What the hell was going on?_

With that thought burning into his mind, Peter sighed and threw himself down in Neal's vacated chair.

He needed to calm down.

He needed a clear head.

Fishing out his phone he called the one person who could always help no matter what the situation, and the one person who was especially helpful when the situation was a _Neal_ situation.

After three rings the cells connected.

"Hey hon…"

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

"Yeah, it's about Neal…"

…..

TBC

…..

A/N: So to be quite honest I'd no intention of ever writing another White Collar fic! I felt like I'd lose the rhythm between Neal and Peter, which is why I brought my other story to a close because I felt the writing dipped because of it. But after watching a few earlier season episodes with these two today, I've gotten the WC bug back and this is the end result. No idea where it's going or what's happening, but we'll find out as we go. Thanks for reading guys!


	2. Chains of Confession

Ten minutes later and armed with a hopefully calmer mind, Peter heaved himself up slowly from Neal's chair and made the weary ascent to the conference room. His gut churned with a familiar bout of reluctance, and he hoped fervently that Neal wouldn't force him to dish out any more than a firm lecture.

His wife's voice danced in the background of his mind, but for once, she had also come up short as to a potential cause of the kid's foul humour and equally foul attitude.

He found himself outside the room of the much used, just by him and Neal, conference room and he hesitated.

He _really_ didn't want to get into it with the kid, but he had a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach that the reforming con wasn't going to give him any choice.

Squaring his shoulders, he remembered what El had said about the need for consistency, and he strode purposefully into the room.

There, with his feet up on the table and staring angrily ahead, was Neal.

So much for the hope that he would have a better attitude.

Snapping the door shut, Peter marched around the table and eyed his reprobate sternly. The blue eyes staring back at him held no strains of remorse, only to his alarm, a growing bout of mutiny.

Repressing a sigh, he kept a hold of his own growing temper. Which was hard, because no one else on the _earth_ pushed his buttons like the dark haired boy glowering up at him.

"Feet down" he rebuked quietly, "and straighten up."

Groaning loudly, Neal very slowly, and very deliberately plucked his expensive shoes off of the surface top.

"Thank you."

There was a quiet for a moment, as the elder of the two wondered what to say next.

He needn't have bothered.

He was beaten to it.

"Go on then, let me have it" Neal suddenly exploded, throwing his arms out in frustration, "we both know you want to."

Closing his eyes wearily, Peter shook his head.

"I never want to Neal, never."

The quiet tone, ringing with sincerity almost seemed to deflate whatever balloon of anger was besieging the younger man, but not quite.

"Whatever" he mumbled mutinously, staring down at his lap.

Biting his tongue, Peter pulled a chair from his side of the table and dragged it around to Neal's side, plopping himself down beside him.

He pretended not to notice the grimace that materialised in response, though he couldn't pretend to _himself_ that it didn't sting.

"I'm not going to yell, I'm not going to lecture" he began gently, "I just want to know what's eating you. This behaviour…it's not like you."

The disbelieving and exasperated look sent his way was his answer.

"I mean it Neal" he contradicted, "you drive me _insane_ with your capers yes,but you're never…well, _moody_."

The protesting squawk that answered him wasn't entirely unexpected.

"Moody?" Neal spluttered in outrage, " _moody?"_

His lips quivered in indignation.

"I am not _moody."_

Peter merely raised a sceptic brow.

"Really bud? You all but throw a tantrum because you ask me for something you _know_ I can't do, and then you sit in a strop with me for hours? That's _not_ being moody? It's not just today either, you've been tense for a while now."

He paused, sucking in air.

"Neal, is everything ok?"

His cheeks reddened, but he went for it anyway.

"Are you uhh…are you upset about uhh a girl, or anything?"

Neal stared blankly, before closing his eyes in despair.

"Peter" he mumbled "for the love of God please don't go there."

Not wanting to go anywhere _near_ there, Peter nodded absentmindedly in agreement.

"Then what is it?" he urged, "c'mon kid…I don't want to have to drag you in here anymore than you want to be dragged, so how about you do us both a favour and just tell me what's up?"

For a brief wonderful moment, it seemed like Neal was going to comply, seemed like his blue eyes were filled with that uncertainty that tore at Peter's heart, but usually led to revelations.

…and then it was gone.

The blue eyes clouded over, and the body posture tightened and stiffened.

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you" the younger man ground out, not sounding the least bit sorry, "it won't happen again ok?"

He paused for breath.

"Can I go now?"

Eying him sadly, Peter shook his head.

"No, not until we get to the bottom of this. I can tell you're upset about something, and I wish you would talk to me about it. At the same time, I cannot, and I _will_ not have you mouthing off to me in the middle of my own office."

The air temperature suddenly took a dip into the negative figures.

"Of course" Neal replied scathingly, "I must _dance_ to your tune wherever and whenever you decide to play it. Forgive me, I forgot myself."

The icy tone that was being used shocked Peter more than he would ever admit.

Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he battled with himself to remain calm.

"Neal" he gritted out, "I'm warning you, that attitude will only end one way for you."

Laughing an eerily insincere laugh, the kid merely shook his head.

"Shocker, I never would have guessed."

Before Peter could respond, a dam of pent of rage seemed to burst from within the kid.

…and then he was on his feet.

Pacing, angrily. Gesticulating, angrily.

"You want to know what's _wrong_ with me?" he all but screeched in an astonished Peter's direction, "you really want to know?"

Nodding slowly in horrified amazement, the elder man watched as the kid stopped his furious pacing for just a minute to place his leg on a nearby chair, wrenching up his pant leg.

Pointing at the exposed anklet with an ire that Peter had never seen before, Neal's opened his mouth to deliver another torrent of acidic explanation.

"It's _this"_ he snarled, "it's being in the best years of my life, and being tethered like some circus animal to a two freaking mile radius. It's being one of the best assets this dump has, and still being treated like the lowliest of unpaid interns."

He drew in a ragged breath.

"It's not being able to ever meet a decent girl. Not being able to explain why I can't go to _their_ place, because _their_ place is on the other side of town. It's about not being trusted to have an even minimal increase after three years."

Another shuddering breath.

"It's about…it's about being _chained_."

With that, the blue eyes snapped shut in a still radiating rage, and the leg was yanked back down the ground.

Whatever Peter was prepared to hear, it wasn't that.

His mind creaked under the pressure of the information.

What the hell was the kid _saying_?

That he was sick of his deal? That he was sick of… _him?"_

His gut churned mercilessly, as the brown eyes took in the rigid form of the kid in front of him.

"Neal" he eventually murmured weakly, "you're serving out a prison sentence. You're not here for the sea and sun. You've gotten the best deal I've ever seen, and you should be grateful."

In hindsight, and with the aid of a beer, he would come to realise that this was the wrong thing to say.

The piercing eyes flew open, and the contempt that they harboured was astounding.

Peter flinched slightly.

This was not the Neal he knew, this was not the Neal he'd taken under his wing.

"Yeah" came the quiet voice, loaded with a vibrating anger "I probably should. Like a _good_ little servant boy, grateful for any and all table scraps, right?"

Peter began to rise, shaking his head.

"Neal, I-"

An artistic hand was held up in a silencing gesture, and despite the situation, Peter balked at the audacity.

"Go screw yourself Peter."

Within a blink of an eye, a brown eye, the young man had crossed the room and the door had been thrown open.

Within the blink of another eye, a brown eye, he was halfway down the stairs.

The shouted and loaded "Neal, you get back here _right now"_ was lost to him, and halfway down the stairs quickly became the full way down the stairs, pausing only momentarily at a desk on the way.

The older voice made it to the door, as the younger voice made it to the exit.

Within the blink of another eye, a blue eye, he was gone.

…the severed anklet, and the heavy scissors, the only things left in his wake were lying on the floor.

…

TBC

…


	3. What Meets the Eye

The blaze of passing traffic was muted to him as he wandered aimlessly down the sidewalk. His mind had never felt so full, but so empty at the same time. Faces passed him in a haze of flesh toned nothingness. It was only his passing of a high end window display that halted him.

His own reflection caught him off guard.

He hadn't been that pale in years.

Thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, he marched on in his directionless pursuit. Every step felt alien, his ankle significantly lighter than it should be. The heavy anklet had become familiar to him now, and its absence was most notable.

Trudging along, with his brisk walking working off his temper somewhat, the full folly of his actions hit him square in the face. His jaw almost slackened with the non physical impact.

He couldn't even explain where his uncontrollable anger had come from.

Well…yes, he could. He just didn't want to. Not to Peter.

Not ever.

His eyes tightened.

He simply couldn't.

His legs continued to carry him forward to nowhere in particular, the lonely logical part of his mind screaming at him to call in now. To halt the creation of a worse situation.

He suppressed the lone voice with an ease, and continued his gate. He couldn't possibly go back now, not without explaining. Peter didn't take half truths for an answer, and the full truth…the full truth was just too high a cost.

Patrol cars passed him as he waited at a busy intersection, and the con in him tensed. His eyes darted around his surroundings, desperately searching for the most inconspicuous escape route.

He needn't have bothered.

The patrol cars passed by him peaceably, their occupants not taking any undue notice of the young stricken looking man, poised to run at the slightest hint of necessity.

His mind reeled.

Did that mean that Peter hadn't taken the formal route?

His impulsive slicing off his anklet would have sent an almost immediate signal to the Marshalls office, who would in turn contact Peter.

If he had told them…the truth, every cop and his dog would be on the lookout for him. The fact that at least four cops had run an unassuming gaze over him would indicate that the alert hadn't been issued.

His heart quickened and his gut churned.

Did Peter lie for him?

Risk his career for him?

The light was green now, and he was propelled forwards by a typical NY surge.

Finding himself on a sidewalk he now didn't recognise, he continued his walking but with a considerable lacklustre element creeping into his step.

The all too familiar guilt of letting Peter down again and again was beginning to make itself known.

With a vengeance.

He recalled his burst of outrages speech in the conference room that had only taken place about an hour ago, though it felt like a different lifetime. His stomach took another unpleasant dip as he remembered the astonished and horrified look on Peter's face.

As far as he knew, the tirade had been because he didn't get the radius increase he wanted.

The blue eyes crunched up in consternation.

It was so…so much more than that.

He'd been wanting to tell Peter for a long time, but he'd never been able to take the plunge. Hell, it had taken _him_ long enough to get his head around it.

It wasn't a situation he'd found himself in before, and he hadn't spoken about it to anyone.

The only person he _did_ want to speak to about it, he'd just alienated.

…and Peter would think it was purely because he was acting like a four year old who wasn't getting his own way.

The walking continued, and such was his chain of thought that he didn't even register that he was beginning to wander into a decidedly unpleasant side of town.

The realisation that the anger he was feeling Peter was mostly born out of frustration began to blanket him. He was angry _because_ his _so much more than just a handler_ didn't magically understand what was wrong with him.

He rolled his eyes at himself.

How _could_ he figure it out by himself? This was _Peter Burke…_ comprehensions of the emotional realm wouldn't exactly be listed under strengths in his resume.

It also didn't help that the image he projected, cultivated, endorsed…was a lie.

He hadn't known it was a lie, he hadn't known it as he lived it. Looking back on it with the benefit of hindsight however, and that was his conclusion.

Of course, there were some elements…well _one_ element mostly that wasn't a lie. That wasn't a fabrication. However even that element paled slightly in comparison to the non troublesome aspect of the troubles that plagued him.

The mindless walking continued, and the polite urban suburbs began to fade into something else entirely, but the preoccupied young man was oblivious.

For perhaps the first time in his adult life, his eyes weren't assessing the pros and cons of his environment, and the incredible mind wasn't working on the imbued sense of self preservation.

On he walked.

Maybe he could tell El.

He had kicked that idea around many times. It many respects it would be seismically easier to explain his frustrations to the much more attuned Mrs Burke. Then she could inform Mr Burke and spare him the trauma.

He dismissed the idea once again for the same reason he always did.

 _He_ wanted to be the one to tell Peter, he wanted the man to be the first to know. As much as he cared deeply for El, and deeply care he did, it was just…different with Peter.

The man had essentially filled the void his own shambolic father had left so seamlessly, that he hadn't even been aware there _was_ a void until it had been robustly removed.

He looked up to Peter, or as Moz put it, he had Stockholm Syndrome.

Whatever it was, the man's opinion of him meant everything to him. His acceptance was as important as he had ever known.

It wasn't easy for someone as self assured as the infamous Neal Caffrey to hinge so much on the opinions of another, but…in this case, he couldn't help it.

How could he cope with the organically grown father/son relationship that grown between them being snatched away, just when he was beginning to accept it?

Just when he was beginning to consider himself blessed with it.

His expensive shoes continued to pound pavements that they should never touch, never be seen in, but he remained oblivious.

The vision of Peter recoiling from him in disgust if he told him, dogged him, as it had done mercilessly over recent times.

He shivered slightly.

He had stormed out of the office in such an enraged haste that he was now out in the cutting wind in just a shirt and tie.

…and that was when he noticed.

That was when he jerked out of his intense reverie, and took stock of his surroundings.

…and that was when he noticed… _them._

Backing up slightly, his eyes roved over the graffiti riddled buildings, the burnt out stores and the complete lack of any sort of police presence.

His eyes flickered to a nearby alley. He didn't know where it led, hell he didn't know where he _was,_ but it seemed a viable option.

Inching towards it, he pulled the cloak of the confident and suave Neal Caffrey over him. His walk was self assured and his head was held high.

The gang of silently watching youths held a collective gaze of this unknown, _expensively_ dressed man. Their eyes roved over the tasteful watch, he perfectly coiffed hair and the designer suit.

Christmas had come early.

The ally was suddenly a no go.

There were more of them emerging from the mouth of the narrow passageway.

Sensing the others closing in around him behind his back, Neal bit down the harrowing panic that was building.

If ever there was a time when his safety, his _life,_ depended on the con. This was it.

Flashing a dazzlingly toothy smile, he held up his hands in a cheery placating gesture.

"Hey fellas" he grinned, feeling sick "I was hoping I'd run into some of you here."

He took a deep breath, diving deeper into the con.

"Got a business opportunity for you."

…

TBC

…


	4. Narnia

Speeding through the streets of New York, having obtained a cast iron assurance from Mozzie that he hadn't heard from Neal, Peter's heart continued to beat an uncomfortable pace. He was bordering on frantic with worry, whilst at the same time coercing himself to act like an agent.

He knew Neal wouldn't go somewhere familiar, because he knew all his favourite places to go when he was upset.

He also knew that the kid was too agitated to come up with a proper escape plan, which was his only asset in this newest debacle. His brown eyes scanned the sidewalks with an acute vision, but came up empty.

No floppy haired, grinning art connoisseur was to be found.

His stomach jolted another notch as he remembered Neal's tirade. His anger. The utter rage dancing in the blue eyes that usually housed only mischief.

He was clearly missing something, there was no way the young man would throw that kind of a fit just because Peter couldn't clear an increase in his radius.

What he was missing though, what had slipped past his radar was anyone's guess.

…and when it came to Neal, anyone's guess was as good as the next guys'.

His cell flashed, and though he knew it wouldn't be his charge, because _his_ cell was on his desk back at the office, his heart stilled.

Maybe it was Mozzie, maybe…maybe he'd seen him.

His hopes sank when he saw the caller id.

 _Hughes._

He groaned.

Neal wasn't the only one who'd walked out on his boss without permission today. Deciding to bite the bullet, he answered the call.

The irate voice instantly sailed through the connection, and he closed his eyes wearily, willing himself not to snap.

When he finally got a word in edgeways, his aversion to lying was uncerimonously cast aside.

" _Yes sir…I know I left without clearance…no, it's not about Neal…"_

He closed his eyes despairingly.

" _Yes…the anklet malfunctioned, Marshall's are working on it…Neal's at home…he's….sick."_

Who was he even kidding?

" _An emergency at home sir, my house its uhh…flooded…"_

Ok, pretence was over. Listening half heartedly to the bollocking that was drifting over the line, Peter hummed and hawed at the correct times. Of course Hughes knew that Neal was in the wind and that his lead agent was also in said wind, chasing him.

He felt gratitude mixed with foreboding as Hughes agreed to keep Neal's absconding under wraps for twenty four hours, accompanied with dire threats to find and anklet him before that time frame expired.

The foreboding increased as his boss issued dire instructions to be in his office first thing tomorrow morning.

The line went dead.

Sighing, Peter threw it on the dashboard and continued on with vastly more important pursuits.

 _Finding_ the kid.

He had only thrown it down, with the infernal thing shrilled once more.

Seeing a long time snitch's name flash across the led, he sighed heavily. Tempering his decision to ignore it was the reminder that he _was_ a federal agent.

Answering once more, he barked out in clipped tones that this wasn't a good time.

The confident voice on the other end cut him short with his rebuke.

"…but I think your boy is in a spot of bother" it drawled, knowing it had hit payday with the information possessed.

Peter's pulse quickened, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Neal?…Are you talking about Neal?" he nearly all but shouted.

The voice sighed.

"Well damn Agent Burke, how am I meant to know his _name_? He's about…I'd guess maybe late twenties early thirties, _very_ pretty… _great_ hair? Wearing about a thousand dollars in designer gear?"

The pulse quickened further.

That was definitely Neal.

"What kind of trouble?" he barked, "where is he? Where are you? Who's with him?"

The eyes attaching to the caller widened.

"Calm down man" it said in surprise, "first, we talk business. You know I don't just go around handing out freebies. You want that information, it's gonna cost you."

Snarling, Peter bit his lip in rage.

"Whatever the hell you want, it's yours. Just _tell_ me where he is _now."_

The eyes widened further.

"Sweet. You know I'm gonna hold you to that now, right?"

The steering wheel was coming under increased pressure.

"Right" Peter hissed, his chest heaving with the efforts of his beating heart.

Smiling, the caller began dishing the scoop.

"Your boy's got himself into a spot of bother down in the Fredrick Projects. I'd say he's got about uhh…eight, maybe nine of them around him. They haven't pulled a punch yet, which is weird. He keeps…smiling at them. Your man's got a screw loose coming down here looking like that and then smiling like a circus clown."

The caller paused to take breath before continuing, but the line had gone dead.

The line had gone dead and an engine was revved to full capacity as Peter u-turned in the middle of a busy road, and careered back in the opposite direction with a feeling of sickening dread in his stomach.

The Frederick Projects were notorious, indifferent to, and unhampered by, a plethora of different police initiatives and redevelopment plans.

The thoughts of Neal there…alone, surrounded was the nearest thing to a heart attack he'd ever had.

The rather seasoned car groaned under the pressure he was exerting on the gas as it tore along the busy streets. The edges of his mind blurred as he raced, the murder rate in those projects were a significant percentage of the overall NY homicide rate this quarter.

He inched the car a little faster.

Within nine and a half minutes, the tyres squealed into the main street of the gang torn block. He slowed the car to a crawl and risked straining several neck muscles as he craned his head this way and that way on the lookout for the kid.

He didn't have to crane long.

Loping into the next street over, Peter instantly spied a gathering of youths enclosing a slightly older man, on the steps of what the FBI suspected to be a large scale crack house.

Swallowing down the acid that rose up in his neck in response to the sight of Neal obviously trying to con his way out of the situation, he felt for his piece against his hip.

The car suddenly stopped coasting and resumed screeching as he sped down the street, cursing the fact that he had used his own car and not a federal car in his pursuit.

No sirens.

He saw a collective head turn as the sounds of his approaching car reached crescendo level.

Grinding to a halt, he closed his eyes briefly knowing that what he was doing was absolutely moronic on every single trained federal level, but also knowing he didn't give a damn.

That was _Neal_ in the middle of that gang.

He saw the kid's eyes widen as he sprang from the car, drawing his firearm in one smooth motion and bellowing _FBI_ in the direction of the fearsome gathering.

For a split second, nothing happened.

…and then everything happened.

Neal, thankfully, had the common sense to duck and cover as the criminals around him began scarpering and throwing packages to each other as they ran.

Peter, for his part, pretended to give a rats' ass about the drugs passing off and the fleeing, but all he was really doing was forcing them to run as fast and as far away from Neal as possible.

When the last youth had disappeared from sight, and the panicked hollering had melted into the distance, he turned and sped towards a now upright, but very pale looking kid.

Running a manic gaze over him he could see no blood, no cuts…no damage.

He sucked in some air.

"Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

His voice even to him, was a solid octave higher than usual and his heart hammered with every syllable.

The fervent shaking of the head in front of him brought about an instant sense of calm.

"No" Neal croaked out, "they didn't lay a hand on me."

"You're sure? You're absolutely _sure?"_

A lock of stray hair fell into the blue eyes as the head was nodded instantly.

Closing his eyes in wearied thanks, Peter nodded slowly and instinctually laid a guiding hand on the younger mans shoulder.

"Come on…let's get you out of here and home."

Thankfully, the younger of the two allowed himself to be guided to the car without a fuss, but inside his turmoil was growing stronger by the second.

How did Peter find him?

What would have happened if he didn't?

The brilliant eyes closed in thankful anguish. He _knew_ what would have happened if they didn't, and it sure as hell wasn't pretty.

Clambering into the awaiting passenger seat numbly, he couldn't believe that he had left the office only a mere two or three hours ago.

It seemed like years had passed since that moment.

As the car suddenly started beneath him, he snuck a look at the driver. The look of relief that made Neal's insides writhe with guilt was still very apparent, but so was a slowly simmering rage.

His stomach did an uncomfortable little flip.

He ran his tongue over his parched lips and cleared his throat hesitantly.

"Peter, I-"

A stern shaking of the head cut him off.

"No words. I don't want to hear _any_ words from you. Not unless I ask you a direct question. Clear?"

Groaning inwardly, Neal jerked his head up and down but couldn't suppress the burning question that raged inside him.

"Will you…will you be able to forgive me?" he asked quietly, a vulnerability in his tone that wavered around the entire car.

Hearing the kid's voice, before registering his words, Peter opened his mouth to issue a firm rebuke about the no words violation.

…but he just couldn't.

Not when the tentativeness, and the scared tremor in the boys face made itself known.

Knowing that he was the softest of soft touches, he reached out and laid a warm hand on the kid's knee whilst keeping his eyes on the road.

"What have I told you about that buddy?" he questioned softly.

There was a silence for a moment as Neal collected his thoughts.

"That no matter what I do, no matter how angry you are, you'll always forgive me?" he eventually rattled off, in typical Caffrey fashion that caused Peter to smile slightly despite the situation.

"Then there's your answer."

Feeling the tensed poise of his passenger relax slightly, Peter withdrew his hand and continued the journey back to the Burke household.

Silence reigned in the car, each occupant lost to their own thoughts and much sooner than Neal would have liked, they were swinging into the familiar drive.

Killing the engine, Peter turned a calm but furious gaze on his now shrinking charge.

"Go to your room. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

Gulping slightly, but refraining from arguing, Neal clambered out of the car and fished his keychain out of his pocket. Peter watched as he quickly opened the front door to which he'd long since had a key, and disappear inside.

Throwing himself back in his seat, the elder of the duo rubbed a hand across his eyes and sighed.

He felt staggering relief that the kid was ok, that he was miraculously unharmed. He also felt a radiating rage at his actions and the danger he'd placed himself in.

He sat in the car for close to twenty minutes, listening to a blow by blow commentary on the game, every statistic soothing him slightly.

When the verbal stream came to an end, he assessed his emotions carefully.

He was angry, sure as hell he was angry, but he was in control.

He could be fair.

Biting his lip slightly, he swung himself from the car and began the wearied entry into his home, wondering when El would be home.

Spying the note left on the message board as he shrugged his suit jacket off in the kitchen, he huffed slightly when he saw that she would be late back due to a client meeting.

"As always, I'm left to deal with him" he muttered to no one in particular, throwing his jacket over the counter and grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. Kicking his shoes off under the stairs, he slowly climbed them, flinching when he saw the missed calls from Hughes as he checked his cell.

Firing off a quick message that he had Neal, and that he would ensure the anklet he kept at his place would be on him before the night was over, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket.

Halting outside the room his charge had effectively claimed as his own, he hesitated for a fraction, before knocking.

The muffled "come in" was heeded, and he strode into the room.

Sitting with his legs under his chin on the bed, was a very morose looking Neal. He had changed into his cotton night ends and an oversized grey t-shirt, which made him look about five years younger than his sharp suit allowed for.

Peter arched a brow.

"Tired?"

A sheepish expression looked back at him.

"A little."

Nodding, he extended a bottle of water and saw down on the bed beside the kid.

He let him drink for a few moments, and sighed at how thirsty he was. Out in the bitter cold, for two hours with only a shirt and tie on him, and no food or drink since breakfast.

He closed his eyes.

Somehow, someway…this lack of nutrition and proper clothing would be all _his_ fault when El heard about today's stunt.

When the bottle was capped, the threw a firm eye in the boy's direction.

"I want answers Neal, and so help me, I want them _now_."

The words caused an instant tensing of the younger man's body, and he drew his legs up further to his chin, looking at Peter miserably.

A silence pressed upon them, and no information was forthcoming. Realising that some prompting may be in order, the agent of the pair opened his mouth.

"Ok. How about we start with what on _earth_ caused you to throw such a _fit_ and storm out on me?"

The slight squirming that was beginning was not unexpected, but Peter held firm.

"I…I guess I was uhh…upset."

Nodding, Peter waited, but in vein.

"Upset about…?" he prompted eventually, wondering why nothing was simple with this kid.

The suddenly green tinge that took over the boy's face had his eyebrows climbing into his hairline with a rapid pace.

"Neal?" he questioned anxiously, "are you sick?"

A haunted look was thrown his way, as the knees were pulled tighter still to the chest.

It was faint, it was muttered, but Peter still caught the "you're going to think I am."

He blinked.

"What do you mean Neal? C'mon, this isn't a joke. Do you feel ill or something?"

Another tortured glance was directed his way, and Peter's stomach did a lurch.

There was…something going on here. Something he'd obviously missed, and judging by the complexion of the young man's face, it was pretty big.

On Neal's side of the bed, things weren't that much easier.

He knew the time had come and that his days of refusing to tell Peter the truth were over. He knew that his actions today had forced the matter, and that leaving this room without a full explanation was just a non starter.

…and he had never been more terrified in his life.

He felt his hands grow damp with sweat, and he felt his pulse kick into an uncomfortable rhythm.

Running a hand through his hair, he looked over at Peter who was watching him with a completely bewildered expression.

God he really had no clue.

Fidgeting with a hole in his bedspread, he slowly opened his mouth.

"I was upset" he stated again.

Peter blinked once more.

"Yeah bud…I could _see_ that. What I don't know is _why_ or why you keep refusing to tell me…care to help me out with that?"

Nodding, the kid struggled to find words.

He was never speechless or muted, but right now, he couldn't have written a second graders speech.

"I guess…I guess I was just frustrated" he mumbled, toying with the hole a little more.

"Frustrated… about what?"

The gentle tone being used nearly set him over the edge again as he struggled to remain calm.

He looked up.

He owed the man that much.

"About…about my life I guess."

Peter stared.

"Huh?"

Neal's eyes closed of their own volition. He needed to be considerably more direct with the man if there was any hope of this conversation being concluded before Christmas.

"You really want to know?" he asked quietly, his heart hammering against his ribcage.

" _Yes_ Neal I _really_ want to know" Peter answered instantly, growing more and more alarmed by the sombre tone the kid had taken.

Nodding, the boy looked around the room, trying to find the words.

"You remember asking me…if I was upset about a…a girl?"

Peter bobbed his head up and down, warring with a feeling of relief and a feeling of anxiety. If this was about a girl, they could get through it.

He'd seen his ward through Kate, _nothing_ could be as bad as that.

Neal tightened his hold on his legs and looked at Peter with such terrified eyes it was all the man could do to refrain from pulling him into a hug.

"What if I told you I was upset about… erm…not a girl?"

Peter tilted his head in complete confusion.

"Say again?"

Biting his lip forcefully, Neal tried again.

"What if I told you that I was…upset about a guy?" he mumbled quietly, a fiery red blush beginning to spread across his cheeks.

The feeling of confusion merely intensified.

"Did this guy _steal_ your girl or something?" he asked quietly, not understanding the blush that was staring back at him.

A frustrated groan escaped the boy and he blinked in alarm.

"…Neal?"

The amber glow across the young man's face kicked up another notch.

" _No_ Peter" he mumbled in frustration, "there _is_ no _girl_."

Nodding slowly, the elder man wondered if he could patent the emotion of confusion.

He'd make an absolute fortune.

"So what's the problem then?" he questioned softly, wishing that El was hear so her and the kid cold communicate in their language of tilted heads and raised brows and the whole situation would be resolved.

"I…I" Neal garbled, "well…I guess…I'm not the…the _ladies man_ you think I am…"

Peter stared for another jot before suddenly nodding compassionately.

So _that_ was the problem?

Jeesh. Talk about an overreaction, but Neal was young, it probably _was_ that big a deal to him.

"Oh bud, that's ok. We all go through a…uhm, dry spell now and again. It's nothing to be ashamed of. What about that nice girl, from the coffee shop? You had your eye on her right?"

The younger of the duo stared at him in complete consternation before dropping his head into knees and murmuring "oh my _god"_ into them.

Peter raised a brow.

"C'mon kid, there's no need to get yourself so worked about it. It'll work itself out…you'll meet someone. I know you're angry because you can't go everywhere you'd like to go with a girl, but your sentence is up in a year…there's that right? …and, your point about your radius increase…I get it. You _are_ one of the main reasons we close the cases we do, and even though I can't officially increase your radius, if there's somewhere you want to go…in particular with a girl, just let me know, I'll take you."

He smiled at a wide eyed Neal.

"Don't worry…I'll make myself scarce when I do."

He wondered briefly how the hell the conversation had taken this turn.

He'd been fully prepared to give the kid the lecturing of his life and yet here he was reassuring him that he was still the infamous Neal Caffrey.

"I don't want to go anywhere with a _girl_ Peter" came the eventual whisper, as the blue eyes peeked up from the knees they rested upon.

Confusion lapped against the elder man again, replacing the small slimmer of comprehension he'd been clinging to.

"…then why did you throw a fit about it in my office? Isn't…isn't that what this is all about?"

Blue eyes met brown as the two stared at each other in a mixture of bewilderment and frustration.

"No" Neal eventually croaked, "that's _not_ what this is all about."

Running a hand through his hair in agitation, Peter arched a brow.

"Then _what_ is the matter kid? Will you please use your words?! You know I'm hopeless with this sort of thing…"

Neal snorted.

No arguments there.

"Neal? Is this about Alex…Sara?"

That was it.

The suave Neal was nowhere to be seen as he stared at his more-than-just-a-handler with an almost frightening ferocity.

The truth he had been harbouring for longer than he cared to remember suddenly surged in him, its containment period well and truly over.

" _GOD DAMMNIT_ Peter! Can't you see that I'm _trying_ to tell you I'm GAY?!"

The silence that descended upon the room was deafening in its intensity as the two men stared at each other wordlessly.

Neal's heart was rampaging in his chest, whilst Peter's was finally slowing down.

The heavy quiet was suddenly broken.

"I mean…it's not as if it's a sudden thing" Neal was rambling, running a hand through his hair and refusing to meet Peter's gaze. "I guess I've always kind of known, but I've never really accepted it. I _did_ love Kate…she was the only one I ever _really_ loved. But…but recently, it's just been…harder to ignore, harder to pretend it's not real."

He sucked in a breath.

"I guess when Kate died and no one else came close, I was forced to accept the truth."

With that, he shut his mouth tight, and still refusing to look at Peter he stared at his knees.

Silence reigned once again, before Peter eventually sliced through it.

With a soft "oh."

He stared at the tortured looking kid, relief vibrating through his every pore.

"Why didn't you just _say_ that son?"

Neal gaped.

… _really_ gaped.

"What?" he whispered, "are you _serious?"_

Peter nodded immediately, and sent a warm smile the boy's way that was born out of the bubble of relief that was blanketing his body.

"Yeah Neal, I'm _serious._ We could have avoided _all_ this if you'd just told me" he said almost conversationally, reaching out and resting a hand on the nearest tucked up knee.

The gentle touch, the serene smile and the calm acceptance was making the younger man's head spin.

"You…you don't _care_ that I'm…that I'm…?"

"Gay" Peter finished for him firmly, "that you're _gay_. It's not a dirty word, say it for me please."

The reforming con stared.

"Please, Neal?"

A brief hesitation was evident, before the lips moved obediently.

"That…that I'm gay?"

Squeezing the knee he held reassuringly, Peter smiled another beaming smile.

"Good lad…and no, Neal, I _don't_ care if you're gay. I don't care if you're _not_ gay, I don't care if you're bi sexual and I don't care if you're a unicorn on Tuesdays."

The look of shock tore at his heart.

"Do you understand me Neal? I. Do. Not. Care."

He squeezed the knee again.

"Hell, I'm _proud_ of you buddy" he murmured, "proud of you…"

Neal continued to gawp.

This was surreal….so, so surreal.

"I thought you'd hate me…find me…disgusting or something" he mumbled eventually, his confusion getting the best of him as he sniffled somewhat.

It was Peter's turn to gape.

However, instinct soon took over shock, and he reached out and drew the kid into his chest. For a moment he feared Neal would refuse, but after a second, he melted into his arms and rested his head on his shoulder.

"How could you _think_ that bud?" Peter asked wonderingly, completely nonplussed as to where the young man would have gotten the idea from.

Wriggling out of the hug, Neal looked up with wide eyes.

"I…I don't know" he confessed suddenly, and…he _didn't_ know.

He had _never_ heard Peter utter a single homophobic remark. He had never seen the man behave in any way other than his usual self around gay people and he'd never so much as seen him laugh at a distasteful gay joke when he heard it.

…and it was then he realised.

It wasn't _Peter's_ reaction he had feared.

It was…James'.

In the short time he'd known that…man, he'd heard him make the most disgustingly lewd comments about homosexuality, seen him openly mock any gay person he happened to come across.

He flinched.

How could he have thought _Peter_ would be like that?

The same Peter who was staring at him now with nothing but warmth in his deep brown eyes.

"I think…" he mumbled, "I think I got confused…" his cheeks reddened, "between you and uhh…James."

…and all of a sudden Peter understood. The familiar rage that flared in him whenever that…man, came into his thoughts spread throughout him as his jaw tightened.

Willing himself to remain calm, he placed a gentle hand under Neal's chin and tipped it upwards.

"Are you listening to me kid?"

The head bobbed up and down.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with being gay. There is _nothing_ wrong with you. You're the same hard headed, menace that you've always been, but I wouldn't want you any other way. You're the same Neal, you're… _exactly_ the same."

He hoped against hope he was saying the right things, as he pressed on.

"Whatever guy gets you will be a lucky man" he concluded firmly, "do you understand me Neal Caffrey?"

Neal nodded wonderingly, his heart bursting with relief.

It was done.

Peter knew.

Soon, El would know.

…it was done.

"Come here" Peter instructed quietly, and the young man willingly allowed himself to be drawn into another tight hug and a hair ruffle.

"I know it's hard, but try not to keep things like that from me son, I can't help if I don't know, yes?"

The thick hair tickled his chin as the young reforming con nodded.

Releasing him with one last tousle of his hair, Peter grinned at him proudly.

"So anyone I should know about?" he queried, his eyes twinkling.

Laughing the first real laugh he'd had in a long time, Neal quickly shook his head before sobering.

"No…" he admitted, "there was…but when he found about my uhh… _restrictions_ and my anklet…he ran for the hills."

Peter suppressed a growl at this unknown joker's attitude and reached out, carding a hand through his charges hair once again.

Neal's conference room outburst made all the more sense to him now.

"His loss kid…it's his loss."

Knowing that the elder man meant every word, the last of Neal's qualms of non acceptance melted away. He should never have had them in the first place.

Suddenly Peter's cell shrieked in his pocket, fishing it out wearily the agent quickly switched off the message, but not before Neal caught a peak.

Of an extremely irate message from Hughes.

The magnitude of his actions forgotten in the midst of revelations suddenly came swooping down on him, and he eyed the agent nervously.

"How much trouble am I in?" he squeaked, "How much trouble are _you_ in?"

Peter stared quietly for a moment, assessing the day's events.

There had clearly been severely mitigating circumstances in Neal's abrupt departure, but at the same time, his behaviour _remained_ inexcusable.

It had placed him in danger, both on the streets and of having his deal revoked. If there was one thing the kid knew he wouldn't tolerate, no matter what, it was _that._

"Well…let's just say _you're_ in for a very sore butt from me and _I'm_ in for a sore ear from Hughes" he replied evenly, feeling familiar weariness set in upon him.

Neal squawked.

"I didn't mean for you to get in trouble because of me" he protested earnestly, "obviously you didn't call the Marshalls in…god Peter, Hughes is going to _kill_ you."

The elder man raised a halting hand.

"I'll deal with Hughes" he said firmly, "I made my decision, and I bear the responsibility of it. Now, _your_ decisions need discussing, am I right?"

Sensing the change in Peter's tone, Neal groaned.

Any hopes that he was going save his behind went flying out the window, not that he _really_ wanted to. The guilt of his actions was getting to him, and the trouble the man beside him was in because of him made him writhe in regret.

"I'm sorry" he mumbled miserably, looking down at his knees, "I shouldn't have done it."

Peter raised a brow.

"You _think_ Neal? You could be sitting in _jail_ now, or you could be beaten to a bloody pulp in the freaking projects, your silver tongue _won't_ get you out of everything you know."

He paused for breath.

"I _get_ that you were upset. I _get_ that you were dealing with something you hadn't deal with before. I _get_ that you were frustrated but you do _not_ get to do things like this Neal! Damnit, how many times have I had to ream you for that kind of carry on?"

Neal dropped a shamefaced expression to his knees and sighed sadly.

"A lot" he conceded, before adding a beseeching "I won't do anything like that again. _"_

It was Peter's turn to sigh.

"I've heard that one before, right?"

A glum nod answered him.

"Neal…you can't keep doing things like this. I can't always get you out of your scrapes. What if my informant hadn't rang me to tell me where you were? How the hell would I have found you?"

The kid stared at him.

…with a look of hurt.

"You have an informant other than me?" he asked in wounded tone.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Peter had to bite down the chuckle that threatened to escape him.

"You stopped being just an informant a long time ago kid and you damn well know it" he sighed in feigned exasperation.

The smug look that shone back at him caused his eyes to twitch with the urge to roll.

"Well?" he prompted, "what do you _think_ would have happened?"

The morose expression tugged his heartstrings, but he held firm.

"I probably would have had my face smashed in" Neal admitted quietly, cursing his asinine bout of adolescence once more.

"Probably indeed" the agent agreed wryly.

Neal ducked a guilty head downwards and Peter sighed.

"Ok. Out with it, you know what I want to hear."

The pleading in the blue eyes was outwardly lost on him, but inwardly he fought to resist the urge to tell the kid to hit the hay and get some sleep before dinner.

"Peter…" the younger man groaned, "please…I…."

A hand was held up.

"Right this minute please."

Biting his lip miserably, the internal battle of self preservation and obedience raged and as usual, obedience won.

Taking in a gulping of air, he opened his mouth.

"I mouthed off to you in the office, I cut my anklet placing my deal in jeopardy and I put myself in danger as a result."

He paused and gulped down some more oxygen.

"…and I withheld information from you" he concluded sadly.

Peter nodded slowly, and once again resisted the urge to instantly forgive and forget.

"Three out of four" he murmured.

Neal looked at him in confusion.

"Yes you're in trouble for mouthing off to me, yes you're _definitely_ in trouble for cutting your anklet and yes you're _absolutely_ in trouble for putting yourself in danger, but…"

He ran a hand through his hair.

"Usually you _would_ be in trouble for keeping important things from me, but no, not this. You had the right to tell me that when you were good and ready, and…yeah, I wish that you would have told me when you first registered those feelings so we could have avoided this, that was your truth to tell when _you_ were good and ready."

Neal gaped.

"Peter" he spluttered in surprise, "since _when_ are you so… loquacious?"

The older of the two blinked.

"Huh?"

Grinning, Neal waved an airy hand, "never mind, continue with the lecture."

"Thanks for the permission" Peter ground out dryly, causing Neal to grin even more.

He couldn't help it. Sure, he was in trouble right now, and sure sitting was going to be an uncomfortable endeavour for a while, but he was still as accepted as he'd always been.

It was like the weight of the world had been jerked off of his shoulders.

"So" Peter carried on, "you know _exactly_ why you're in trouble?"

Neal nodded.

"…and you know in addition to the warm tail you're about to get, you're pretty much looking at your cell for the next month?"

The next nod was much, much slower.

" _Neal."_

The head bobbed up and down, albeit miserably.

Satisfied, Peter sighed inwardly. Today should have been a great day, with Neal getting what he had off of his chest, but there was no way his behaviour was going to fly.

"Stand up bud" he instructed firmly but with a definable sadness, as he unbuttoned the cufflinks of his right sleeve and began rolling it up to his elbow.

Up till now, the theoretical spanking that was coming his way had been down on the list of Neal's woes, now however…it was right up there.

" _Now_ Neal" Peter repeated sternly, seeing that the kid had made no effort to move.

Reluctantly, the young man stood and made his way to the bed edge perch where the agent sat.

"You understand why this has to happen?"

Nodding glumly, Neal murmured the requisite "yes Peter."

Seeing no point in putting off the inevitable, the weary agent reached out and took a gentle grasp of the boy's wrist and pulled him down over his knee in a swift movement, born of much familiarity.

Wrapping a firm hand around his ward's waist, he lifted his right knee slightly and tucked him into his chest.

"I _never_ want to have to punish you for this reason again, do you understand me?"

Burying his head into the bedspread, Neal jerked his head up and down in sheer misery.

Satisfied, Peter began the unpleasant task of communicating just how very unacceptable today's stunt had been.

In the quiet confines of the room, the first brisk swat seemed to echo, before being muted by another and another, and soon a regular rhythm of swats began to land upon the upturned rear. Neal hissed despite himself as the thin cotton pants did nothing to protect him from the leathery gate of Peter's maddeningly wide hand.

Knowing he was where he was for the long haul, he buried his face deeper into the bedclothes and did his best to stay still.

The pain in his backside was mounting with every second, and it was abundantly clear that Peter wasn't holding back.

This was made all the more clear by the very early loss of his pants and shorts, as the older man bared his butt in one successive tug.

Groaning, Neal couldn't help but yelp loudly as the first hard swat landed on his now completely unprotected rear end, quickly followed by another.

…and so it went on, Peter reluctantly dishing out firm swats on a growingly red posterior, and Neal reluctantly breaking from his stoic front, beginning to whimper and squirm across the agents knee.

It wasn't long before the first of many tears sprang up in the young man's eyes, the emotional turmoil accompanied with the stinging in his rear getting the best of him.

Whilst he hated hearing Neal cry, loathed being the one to make him cry, Peter breathed a small sight of relief when he heard the first sob escape the boy.

…they were nearly there.

Feeling like a monster, he tipped his charge forwards slightly and began to redden the tender curve of his upper thighs with a flurry of well placed swats, and it was then that the kid went completely limp over his knee and sobbed quietly.

They were done.

Dishing out one swat to each ruby red cheek, Peter brought the spanking to an end with a sigh of relief.

Immediately replacing the hand that had punished with the hand that now comforted, he ran gentle circles over the small of Neal's back and murmured to him quietly. They stayed in that position for quite a while, the kid getting his breathing back to normal.

Hating himself a little more with every sniffle he heard, Peter continued to rub Neal's back gently and assure him he was forgiven.

The last tear fell from the blue eyes and the last sniffle was sniffed not long after, and the boy heaved himself up. As per his usual form, Peter busied himself with pulling his sleeve back down as Neal tugged his cotton ends back up with a loud hiss.

Turning back around, Peter tucked the younger mans chin up with a careful thumb.

"Do me a favour?"

Neal nodded instantly, hissing a little more as any movement upset his scorched backside.

"Please don't make me do that again for a long time…ok?"

Staring back with watery blue eyes, the reforming con wondered for the millionth time was there no end to Peter's patience.

"I won't" he agreed sincerely, having absolutely _no_ desire to have anything close to the heat in his backside repeat itself.

Smiling his broad genuine smile, Peter nodded happily.

"Good lad. Now, do I have to wait till next week to get my hug…?"

Rolling his eyes, the kid slowly, in deference to his butt, melted into Peter's open arms and sighed a sigh of complete relief.

Holding the young man to him tightly, Peter thanked whatever higher power there was that the day had turned alright after all.

Releasing him after a few moments, he ran an eye over his slim frame.

"I need you to eat before El comes home and murders me" he suddenly muttered anxiously, carefully steering his ward out of the room, careful not to rush him so as not to cause any undue flare up.

Cackling with laughter Neal allowed himself to be guided, and threw a hopeful "can I put some cream on…?"

The snorted "not a chance, I didn't work that hard to put a sting there for you to take it away with your fancy potions" was not unexpected, but the dramatic sigh was obligatory.

Walking into the kitchen, Peter took pity on him and grabbed a fluffy cushion from El's window seat collection.

"Here, sit on that" he offered, and rooted in the fridge as Neal placed the proffered cushion on a stool and sat with a yelp.

"Always with the dramatics" Peter muttered into the tuna he was examining, as a squirming Neal rolled his eyes behind his back.

"Those eyes are going to get you into bother" the agent murmured absently, as he rooted for bread rolls.

The blue eyes immediately stilled.

Ten or so minutes later, and both men were munching on tuna rolls and soup, chatting amiably.

"So" Peter began , swallowing a mouthful of bread, "you do realise I expect you to bring whoever you meet here for dinner, if and when things get serious, right?"

Neal choked on his soup.

Spluttering through his laughter, he shook his head.

"God, Peter, you're _so_ old fashioned."

Standing up and clearing away his dishes, the older man shook his head defensively.

"What? I just want to meet the guy, is that so _bad?"_

Neal looked at him knowingly.

"Meet him, or use whatever utensils he eats with to run a background check?"

Throwing his bowl into the dishwasher, Peter pretended to look affronted.

"You think I would do that?"

Without hesitation, Neal nodded.

"Absolutely."

Crossing the room to clear away the kid's now empty dishes, Peter laughed as he reached around him to grab his glass.

"Good, because you're damn right I would."

….

TBC

….

A/N: Ok, so, _jeesh_ that was _way_ longer than I intended but I just got totally carried away. Sort of nervous about posting this one as it's obviously not canon compliant, but a nod to Matt Bomer's sexuality! I also wanted to test the waters about a big, non con/screw up revelation between the two and see how it would play out. I'm moderately happy with how it turned out, so please let me know what you guys thought.


	5. Hughes Blues

A set of brown and a set of blue eyes darted from side to side, following the agitated pacing of one Reece Hughes. The patriarch of the White Collar division was visibly pulsating with rage, and the view was not a pretty one.

Despite the serious of the situation, Neal had to bite down hard on his lip to keep from bursting into laughter at the off pink suspenders.

How had he never taken notice of them before?

Seeing the loaded look Peter sent him subtly, he sobered instantly. His eyes found the floor as guilt besieged him once more.

It was _his_ fault Peter was in the hot seat.

Suddenly, the pacing came to a standstill as Peter's boss and Neal's boss' boss inhaled sharply.

Throwing himself down in his chair, he looked up at the two men standing before his desk and gave the traditional two finger point at his Agent in charge.

Well, his _supposed_ Agent in charge.

"Start talking Burke."

Neal winced at the tone, and cast a guilt ridden look in his handler's direction.

Peter for his part nodded, and opened his mouth immediately.

"There was a…misunderstanding. Between Neal and I, and it escalated. I take full responsibility both for the situation and the arising consequences of it. It was my fault sir and I apologise. It won't happen again."

With that, he snapped his mouth shut and prayed that Hughes would accept this rather lacklustre explanation, ream him, and let them both go.

Such prayers weren't to be answered.

He should have known that even god would struggle with a miracle like that one.

"A misunderstanding you say?" Hughes murmured dangerously, and Peter groaned internally. His boss wasn't yelling, and contrary to the norms of anger displays, the quiet voice being used did _not_ bode well.

"Yes sir" he replied quietly, "I overreacted on a decision Neal made, and the situation imploded from there. It shouldn't have happened, and I assure you, it won't reoccur."

Hughes arched a brow.

"You expect me to believe that?" he demanded, jerking his head in Neal's direction who grimaced, "you've been off the reservation more often than on since _he_ turned up here."

Despite the depth of the trouble he was in, and despite the respect he held for his boss, Peter frowned.

Heavily.

"Neal is an asset" he countered firmly, "and the responsibility for my decisions is _mine,_ not his."

Beside him, he could just feel Neal getting ready to interrupt and contradict him.

Holding up a hand, he shot him a firm look.

"Don't."

Shutting the mouth he had just opened, Neal glowered but kept his piece.

"Oh…so you _can_ control him then?" Hughes shot across the table, his tone dripping in sarcasm.

Peter made no response to that, knowing it was rhetorical, but having to bite his tongue at his annoyance at the word "control."

The kid wasn't a freaking dog.

Hughes sat back in his chair and scrubbed a hand across his face in consternation.

He liked Caffrey, he truly did, no matter how hard he hid it. He was the brightest, most intriguing man he had ever met, but…he was also a liability.

He knew no boundaries, he flouted authority…and was all in all, a constant headache.

…but he was a headache that landed incredible results, and he couldn't argue with the numbers.

He'd also seen a close relationship brewing between Burke and the kid over the years, and he suspected that if he were ever to issue an ultimatum that Caffrey had to leave, he'd have one hell of a fight on his hands.

He sighed.

No matter how much it appeared to the contrary, he despised dragging people into his office for a roasting.

"Let's just say for arguments sake that I believe what you're telling me is the full truth" he began quietly, "I don't, but for argument's sake, we'll pretend I do. How in the hell am I supposed to run this department, when my people go AWOL because they're having a _bad day?"_

He leant back and glared up at the two who at least had the grace to look ashamed of themselves.

This time, Neal couldn't bite his tongue.

"Please, Agent Hughes" he answered, feeling Peter's gaze scorching into the side of his head, "this is my fault..please don't blame Peter, it was my doing, and-"

Hughes shook his head in interruption.

"You think I don't know that this was your fault Caffrey? You think I was born looking this old?" he barked in exasperation, "because I wasn't, and I know that you are the root of most the of _shenanigans_ in this office!"

Neal bit his lip both at the _shenanigans_ and the increasing glare he could feel beside him.

Peter had made him agree that he wouldn't open his mouth unless asked a direct question, but he just couldn't help it.

"Burke, anything to add?" Hughes shot across the room, glaring at his best agent, resisting the urge to shake him.

Peter was flawless, meticulous and utterly dependable.

Until it came to that infernal kid. Then all bets were off, and it all went to hell.

Looking his boss in the eye, Peter shook his head slightly.

"No sir" he mumbled slightly sheepishly, "there is no reasonable justification for what happened, and I won't insult either of us by making one up."

Nodding in relative mollification at this, Hughes sighed with a gusto.

"You want to go back to the cave Peter? Is that what you want?"

Neal flinched at this, and flinched even more at the horrified expression that was spreading across his handlers face.

"No sir" came the immediate, quiet reply.

Nodding, Hughes looked askance at Neal.

"Is that what you want for him?" he questioned angrily, feeling a _tiny_ twinge of guilt at how positively distressed the handsome young man looked.

"No sir" Neal blurted out, "please…it's _my_ fault. Don't…you can't, he…"

He rubbed a hand over his face in an unusual bout of stunted speech, before looking up at the elder of the three with a suddenly determined look on his face.

"Revoke my deal" he said quietly, sincerity coating his words "if you're going to send anyone anywhere, the only person it should be is me. Not Peter…me."

A silence blanketed the office broken nearly instantly by a hissed " _Neal"_ from his right.

Peter held up a hand, still shooting Neal a deathly glare.

"Sir…don't listen to him. He's…confused."

Hughes had heard enough. Holding up a hand, he glanced at the clock.

"You" he began, staring heavily in Neal's direction, "house arrest for two weeks. No radius, no two miles. Just work, and nowhere else. It's already cleared with the Marshalls. Do you understand?"

The youngest of the three stared for a moment, before recovering himself, and nodding silently.

"You will also author a series of papers, the list will be sent to you, to aid in the teaching programme at Quantico. I assure they are very dry, tedious and art devoid topics. You will give them your fullest attention, and you will not ask Peter for help. Understood?"

Another jerk of the tousled head answered him.

"As for _you"_ Hughes continued, shifting his gaze to Peter, "you are on desk duty for two weeks. As is your puppy here by the way."

Neal scowled unseen.

Talk about double jeopardy.

"You will also personally be responsible for grading the entrance exam for this year's academy hopefuls."

He paused, looking up at Peter steadily.

"With no assistance. I believe there was" he ruffled some pages on his desk, "yes…one thousand, and twenty three applicants this year."

The horrified expression looking back at him was priceless.

"You have one month, so I'd use my time wisely if I were you," he jerked his head in Neal's direction, "you will not solicit or accept any help from Houdini here, clear?"

Peter swallowed a ball of misery in his throat, and forced his head to bob up and down.

The grading punishment was infamous in the bureau. He'd suffered it only once, and even then it had been just over a hundred scripts.

This…was going to suck.

…but if meant no mark in his file which he knew and appreciated Hughes avoiding, he knew he ought to consider himself lucky.

"Yes sir" he answered clearly but with a tinge of misery, already sensing the cramp that would occur in his hand over the next month.

Pulling papers towards him to get back to work, Hughes gave a curt nod.

"Good. Then get out, the two of you, and woe betide either of you if you end up in here anytime in the near future."

With that, he dropped his head in an open file, and began reading silently.

Breathing out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, Peter jerked his head in Neal's direction. Striding across the office, he held the door open for his charge, who exited and hightailed it down the corridor.

About to step out, and close the door behind him, he was halted by his boss' voice.

"That kid, Peter…" Hughes asked, his tone much friendlier, though still a tad exasperated, "is he really worth all this?"

Hand on the door, the younger man felt a smile play on his face as he looked the elder man directly in the eye, the sight of Neal's retreating back being caught in his peripheral vision.

"A thousand times over."

Hughes caught the sincerity in his usually emotionally guarded agent's tone, and nodded in acceptance.

"Well…" he admitted slowly, "he's unique, I'll give you that. You sure know how to dress a hard bed for yourself huh?"

Peter smirked slightly as he stepped through the door, before shutting it with a quiet snap. His unrepentant "yes sir" was unwavering, and Hughes watched as he set off down the hall after his bizarre protégée of sorts.

"It takes all sorts" he muttered to himself, smirking himself slightly as he recalled a much younger, and much more impulsive Peter Burke.

His eyes flickered to the QA-14 request he had laid on his desk for the education department to send him the driest of writing materials for Neal to work on.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

It was gone.

The office door was opened with an offensive force, as he barrelled out onto the landing overlooking the bull pen.

Seeing the kid sitting at his desk, with Peter perched on its side, his complexion went through a rapidly changing colour scheme.

"CAFFREY."

….

TBC

….


	6. OPR

A singular black lock of hair fluttered in the wake of a heavily disgruntled sigh. Then another one, and then another after that. The air was stale, and the boredom was reaching a near all time high. Looking down unseeingly at the pyramid scheme he was meant to be working on, Neal leant the hair he was sitting on back on two legs.

Swinging slowly, he sighed once again.

The vein in Peter's temple was pulsating as he tried valiantly to suppress the very understandable predilection to murder he was currently experiencing.

Looking up, and feeling uncomfortably hot himself, he glowered. With less of his usual effort, because frankly, he didn't have the energy.

"Chair down" he mumbled half heartedly, "and get back to work." He dropped his own head back down, and bit his lip against the gentle breeze that wafted over his face that came directly from Neal's breathy exhalation.

Silence petered in, and he found himself growing more and more immersed in his own heist file, before the chair was rocking again. Rubbing his aching temple with one hand, and loosening his suffocating tie with the other, he shot another warning look across the table.

"Look" Peter scolded, "there is _some_ air con in here. There is _none_ out there. Which is why I let you work in here when you asked, but if you do not _put_ that chair in all _four_ of its legs, you are going straight back to your own desk."

Neal merely rolled his eyes slowly and smiled easily.

"Oxygen is vital" he drawled, "actually, there was this really funny line in House about it one time. Do you watch House?"

He didn't pause for an answer before continuing to ramble on and work on every single one of Peter's nerves.

"Its about this Doctor and he-"

Peter threw his pen down in complete and utter exasperation.

" _Neal"_ he growled, "there is such thing as _good_ silence. There is such a thing as _very_ good silence. Please, for the love of god, _will you get back to work."_

Blinking slightly and pouting, the younger of the two set his chair back down with a snap and threw his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Jeesh" he murmured in a wounded tone fit for the stage, "no need to bite my head off."

Shaking his own head in disbelief, Peter merely got back to his own stack of paper with a mumbled "sooner we get this done, the better."

Glancing down at the jumble of _boring_ that was staring up at him, Neal shook his head in disagreement.

"This is cruel and unusual" he declared loftily, "we've been at this _forever."_

Peter merely pursed his lips.

"This is fair and reasonable" he corrected quietly, "and we've been at this for only a few hours."

He rolled his eyes to himself.

"Well _I_ have anyway…"

Fidgeting with a stack of rubber bands, Neal merely scowled. It was only the first day of his and Peter's desk duty stint, and he was already crawling the walls. Sure, he knew that Hughes had been fair, but _still._ There _had_ to be a law against this level of _boring_.

It didn't help that the already minimal air conditioning in the office had decided to give up the ghost on one of the hottest days of the year.

He stretched irritably.

About to open his mouth to assess the dire situation once more, he clamped it shut when Peter sensed the intention, and growled slightly.

Flicking his gaze to his own file, the young ex-con had to suppress a grin.

He wasn't the _only_ one feeling the heat.

Suddenly realising that Peter had organised their stacks of files into daily targets, he tugged his bulky file towards him. He didn't need to be told that the elder of the two would have no hesitation in forcing him to drag the exasperating heist, and its ilk, home with him.

House arrest, with the additional misery of home based cold cases, was _not_ appealing.

Within ten or so minutes, he too was engrossed, a pen flying across a legal pad, which was rapidly filling with his flawless handwriting.

About an hour or so passed in complete and utter calm, and Peter thanked whatever lucky stars were watching over him that the kid had seemed to kick himself into gear.

He _really_ didn't have the energy to yell today.

Not in this heat.

When the next interruption came, it therefore _wasn't_ from Neal's side of the desk. In fact, it wasn't from inside the room at all.

Jones knocked sharply on the glass door, knowing the news he had to convey, was _not_ something Peter would want to hear.

…and it _definitely_ wasn't something Neal wanted to hear.

"Boss?" he greeted, edging into the room slowly, feeling an irritating sense of protectiveness wash over him as he glanced at a diligently working Caffrey.

He had _sworn_ not to be taken in by the kid, but…damn it, he was infectious.

He decided against asking for a private talk, there was no point. There were no secrets between those two anyway, and…it concerned Caffrey.

Very much so.

"Jones?" Peter answered quietly, looking up and feeling a migraine pressing behind his eyes.

His agent licked his lips nervously, and the team lead threw his pen down and gave the younger man his full attention.

Something was wrong.

"Clinton?"

He tilted his head, the all too familiar feeling of foreboding increasing in his gut.

"Its…its the Marshal Service…and the parole board…"

Peter arched a brow, and noted that Neal instantly stopped writing, and also turned his full and undivided attention on Jones.

The eldest of the three blinked slowly, and felt his beginnings of a migraine soar into a full migraine whilst his stomach tumbled uncomfortably.

"What about them?" he asked quietly, keeping one eye trained on Neal, who he could tell was fighting to appear nonchalant with Jones in the room.

…but he could see the kid's mind was whirring, and not in a good way.

Clinton bit his lip and threw the file he was holding, down onto his boss' desk, with an agitated shake of his head.

"There's been…a complaint" he began reluctantly, "about…Neal's work-release programme."

Peter stared.

"A complaint?" he echoed faintly, "about what? By whom?"

Jones scrubbed a hand over his eyes, and sighed in frustration. He could see the anger beginning to burn in his boss' eyes, but more importantly, he saw the fear.

…and it made him mad. It made him mad as hell. Peter had put more work than anyone could ever ask for into Neal, and the kid had returned it by coming on in leaps and bounds.

…and now it could all have been for nothing.

"Keller" he growled, "he got his lawyer to approach the DA for a deal. Says he has evidence of you…of you repeatedly and deliberately violating Neal's conditions of release. He also says he has evidence of crimes Neal hasn't been accused of yet."

A stunned silence blanketed the room, as an extremely uneasy Clinton continued to deliver the bad news.

"The Marshal Service is convening a meeting to consider _your_ handler-ship Peter, and are insisting OPR launch a full investigation into your conduct."

He paused, to suck in a deep breath.

"Neal…is going to be re-arrested, but on new charges."

He forced down some air, wincing heavily at the horrified expressions that were now looking up at him.

Peter fought through the haze of the gripping fear he felt for Neal, and forced his vocal chords into action.

"When are they coming?" he croaked out, glancing frantically at the clock.

Jones grimaced, and stepped slightly to the side, jerking his head in the direction of the bull pen that lay below.

"They're already here."

…

TBC

…

A/N: No idea what this plot line is or where its going, just making it up as I go along. Update in the wings! Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed.


	7. Reality of Reform

Peter stormed past Jones, and threw an arm back to stop Neal exiting the office behind him. His silent look was communication enough to stay the hell inside the glass panelled room. Taking the steps three at a time, he landed into the bull pen with a glare that frankly none of his colleagues had ever seen the relatively mild mannered man wear.

He quickly spotted the undesirables, as they were hardly blending in. Three tall, glaring Marshals were in the middle of arguing their way past Dianna, who to Peter's pride, was standing firm as hell.

Coming down behind her, he laid a hand on her shoulder and somehow managed to smile his thanks. Throwing a reciprocal glare at the Marshals who were glowering in his direction, he stepped in front of her.

"I sure hope you fellas' aren't harassing my Agents," he growled by way of introduction, "because…believe me when I say that, I tend to take that _badly."_

The obvious boss of the trio merely sneered in his direction.

"Look," he drawled with a maddening indifference, "we have orders same as everyone else. Now why don't you just make things easier on yourself, and hand over Caffrey and we'll be on our merry way."

Peter's jaw twitched violently.

"Charges?" he snapped brusquely, his mind working so far and so fast into overdrive it was starting to make the room spin.

Smirking, the lead Marshal whipped a heavy sheaf of papers from his inside coat pocket, and cleared his throat before reading aloud.

With a disgustingly, gleeful gusto.

"Embezzlement; three counts. Felony fraud; _seventeen_ counts. Identity theft; twelve counts."

He paused, before grinning devishly at a now desperately pale Peter, and cocking his head to the side like a cat toying with a wounded mouse.

"Personally I think the embezzlement charges are a _tad_ trumped up, but…hey, I'm just the middle man," he laughed as he tucked the arrest warrant back into his pocket, only after Peter had snatched and read it, and spread his arms exultantly.

"So…where is he then?

Peter swallowed, hard. He knew Neal would have ran, when he spied the procession waiting for him in the bull pen, and frankly, he couldn't blame him.

He was relieved for him, desperately relieved for him.

Those charges were serious…they were _collectively a life time in prison_ level serious.

Whist the kid had come on leaps and bounds during his work-release programme, even Peter knew that they were skeletons in his closet that once unearthed, couldn't be re buried.

Couldn't be controlled.

His felt his mouth run dry at the prospect of Neal out on the streets, with potentially no way of getting in contact with Mozzie, no one to turn to when he needed them.

The apartment would be watched, and Peter wasn't sure what stashes, if any, the kid had around the city.

He felt Hughes beside him before he saw him, and as he turned to him in anguish, he could have sworn he saw a matching look of sorrow in his boss' eyes.

Hell…Neal had apparently even won Reece over, that was a miracle in itself.

Bracing himself, he prepared mentally for the possibility of being dragged in for questioning for supposedly helping Neal scarper, and opened his mouth slowly.

…but the words never made it out of his vocal chords.

A soft, expensive cloth brushed past him, accompanied by a familiar waft of delicate aftershave.

He felt his jaw slacken, and his stomach lurch as his mind struggled furiously to come to terms with the information his eyes were drinking in.

There was Neal.

Right in front of him.

He hadn't slipped out some unknown exist. He hadn't shimmied out of some impossibly small crevice; he hadn't leapt on to a passing mail cart and simply wheeled himself out of the building.

He hadn't divested himself of his anklet.

He hadn't…run.

He had….stayed.

Peter felt himself swoon slightly with nausea, rooted to the spot, unable to speak or move as the boy calmly held out his wrists to the awaiting goon squad, with a small, slight smile.

His ears fought to convey the words that slipped from the kid's mouth to his brain, as his gate became more and more unsteady, so much so…that Reece saw fit to place a hand on his shoulder.

"You came for me, and you got me fella's….now, these people have important work to do, so what do you say we leave them to it?"

Within a blink of an eye, a horrified, dilated, pulsating brown eye, a sliver of metal whirred through the air. Heavy cuffs were expertly placed on Neal's proffered wrists, snapping shut with an oddly ear piercing clink.

…and that was when Peter's sensibility and mobility returned to him.

Stepping forward with a snarl, he lost his head utterly, and attempted to dive at the beaming Marshal that held Neal in his filthy paws.

He was immediately and forcibly jerked back by Reece and Jones, who held onto him tightly, whilst staring deathly glares at the mob squad that was beginning to inch Neal out of the building.

Prodding and poking the captive unnecessarily as he was fully compliant, they made to brush past the horrified party that comprised Peter, Dianna, Jones and Reece, when Neal stopped short and looked a clammy Peter straight in the eye.

Nudging as close to his as possible, he strove to communicate lengthy volumes of speech through his gaze, looking at the man who had changed his life with an intensity that Peter hadn't seen since the day he'd pulled Neal back from that burning plane.

Feeling the pressure increase on his back, the kid locked his gaze even firmer with that of Peter's, and smiled his rare, unmasked, genuine smile.

The smile that both Burkes had worked so desperately hard to bring about and so desperately loved to see.

"Neal…" Peter whispered faintly, with a desolate shake of his head, "I…"

The tousled black head shook firmly in interruption, as he continued to be prodded along.

Forcefully.

"Remember what I said Peter?"

The older man looked at him blankly, so sick to his stomach was he that his usual gauge for Neal-isms was considerably under par.

Neal once again scorched him with his gaze, before tilting his head expressively as he was forcibly propelled forwards for the last time.

"You're the only one…."

Peter blinked, a bout of raw understanding dawning on him with an unmistakably deafening force.

"The only one what…?" he whispered, watching numbly as Neal was dragged further and further away, as he stood helpless to intervene.

Neal shot his genuine smile over his shoulder as he was led away, and mouthed the rest of the words that he so carefully selected.

"The only person in my life that I trust."

…

TBC

…


	8. Graduation Day

The silence that rebounded around the bull pen seemed to crush with an almost ocean like pressure against his ears. He vaguely registered a touch, as guiding hands clasped him as he stumbled somewhat. Jones' and Hughes' hands formed both a protective and resistant barrier around him, as he stumbled helplessly in the immediate wake of Neal's departure. The bull pen seemed to immediately take on eerie ghost town vibe, with the exit of its most colourful character sucking the life force straight out of the atmosphere.

Blinking, the shocked tinged concern of his boss and his agent stared back at him. Shrugging himself out of their grasp, Peter ran a hand over his green pallor and felt his breakfast churn. Before he could even contemplate a syllable to utter, his phone trilled in his pocket. Acting as if on auto pilot, he fished it out, gulping as he saw the caller id. If what had just happened was hard for _him_ to process, it was nothing compared to the processing difficulties that were just about to begin. Flipping it open, he took a deep breath and tried to find the words.

Watching as Peter paled and moved away with a murmured "hey hon," Reece and Clinton looked at each other with raised brows and pursed lips. Neither of them would admit that their interest in Neal being hauled off had any effect on them, other than transferred misery from Peter, but both of them were dealing with similar feelings of distress. "What're we going to do?" Jones muttered quietly, eying Hughes with a burning intensity. Being a man of reputed decisiveness, Reece scrubbed his face and felt the unfamiliar feeling of blankness wash over him. "I don't know," he answered quietly, honestly.

Jones' gulping was interrupted by the snapping of Peter's phone, and the man returning to the stunned circle. Speaking to directly to his boss, his tone was low and constricted. Not at all like the usual placid and fluid vocals associated with the man. "I know I'm riding a desk…but, please, I need to go. I need to go now…" There was a silence as both men stared silently at each other, with Jones' and now Diana's, who had returned from firmly seeing the marshals out, gaze flickering between the two.

Thinking rapidly, Hughes was conflicted. Letting Peter go, was something that screamed at him as the right thing on a personal level. On a professional level, he was torn. He had rapidly learned that there was nothing off limits when it came to Burke and Caffrey, and he was quite sure that the man could bring about the end of his own career if he meddled in the recent debacle. Especially with an OPR investigation in the works. Chewing his lip, he found himself being annoyingly melted by the brown eyes staring at him with a beagle force. Sighing, he nodded, but jerked his head in Clinton's and Diana's direction.

"You can go," he said slowly, "but these two come with you." Seeing Peter about to object, he held up a hand. "Non- negotiable Burke," he clipped out with a firmness that killed him, "either they go with you, or you go straight back to your office. It's up to you. Understand?" An almost blanketed quiet filled the circle, as Peter swallowed down a growl. "Yes sir," he forced himself to answer, with only the hint of a snapping snarl. Nodding curtly, Reece ran a hand over his face, quite sure allowing the three to go off and do god knows what, was a grievous error, but…damn it to hell if he didn't want to help that damn kid as well. "Nothing illegal or anything that even _smells_ off…are we all clear on that?"

Three heads inclined in unison, in a collective half truth. Sighing, and pretending to take this gesture as a binding agreement, Hughes jerked his head towards the door. "Ok, go and do whatever it is you're going to do. That I have no knowledge of, because, this conversation never happened, clear?" Two male and one female jaw's instantly slacked in shock as they stared in confusion at their boss. Smirking somewhat, Reece waved a dismissive hand as he turned back up the stairs to his own office. "Oh please, I was bending the rules when you people were still learning which sand box was tastier." With that, he swept up the remaining stairs and was gone from view.

Recovering first, Peter blinked and turned to face his agents. "I don't care what you do, go to the beach, I honestly don't care…but you are _not_ coming with me. It's too risky, I don't know what way this is going to play out, hell…I don't even know the full extent of the charges yet. So…go, I'll see you tomorrow here as normal, ok?" He watched, with a rapid pulse as his people exchanged looks, before turning to him and shaking their heads in unison. "We're with you boss," Diana stated calmly, as if informing Peter of the time. Beside her, Jones gave an agreeable nod. "Beach can wait," he concurred, "Caffrey can't."

A conflicting sensation of pride and ire was spreading throughout Peter as he glared at his agent's. "Look, guys," he murmured quietly, "I'm grateful that you'd do that…I really am. But I already have one of my people in the weeds; I sure as hell don't need three." There was a small, knowing smile playing about Diana's lips as she shook her head slowly. "Come on boss, we all know that Neal is more than just one of your people," she answered softly, "let us help you bring him home, because frankly, we're not taking no for an answer." Again, Jones nodded in full support of his partner's speech, because really, he didn't feel like talking emotions with his boss. But even he could see that Neal was more a Burke family member than he was a Burke team member.

Feeling his jaw slacken slightly, Peter sighed in despair. "Since _when_ are you two so comfortable in defying me?" he tried to growl, being ultimately unsuccessful in doing so. Clinton and Diana smirked at each other, before answering in natural unison. "Since Caffrey," they chorused. In that moment, all Peter could do, despite the seriousness of the situation was laugh. Rather heartily in fact. "Maybe I should leave him where he is then," he joked, but they all knew that hell would freeze over before the man would do that. Sobering up, Peter looked at the young agent's and raised a brow. They might think they knew how he felt about Neal, but _they_ were all kinds of important to him too. "Thank you," he murmured with a raging sincerity, "I won't forget this."

"Until the next time one of us messes up his coffee order," Jones stage whispered to Diana, who snorted in agreeable laughter. "True," she spluttered, "very true." Rolling his eyes, Peter grinned despite himself at their well intentioned attempt at levity. "Alright, alright," he mumbled, bringing them to order, "Jones…I need you to use your law school connections here. Find out all you can about the charges that are being brought. I'm sure Neal will bring in the little guy as his lawyer. Find him. Work with him. Ok?" Clinton nodded instantly, and fishing his cell from his pocket, swept from the building.

"Diana, I need you to dig into the lead up to this investigation into Neal. Something doesn't sit right, the information they have could have surfaced years ago. It's no coincidence that Neal's sentence only has a year left on it. Find out if someone up the chain is pulling the strings, trying to have him tethered to the FBI. It's happened before, who's to say that's not what's going on here. Ok?" Nodding immediately, Diana also plucked her phone from her pocket. "On it boss," she murmured, before looking up at Peter with gentleness in her eyes. Placing her hand on his shoulder, she gave it a little squeeze. "We'll bring him back, I promise."

With that, she also strode from the building leaving Agent Burke battling his allergies as he cursed the nonexistent pollen in the air that was irritating his eyes. Recalling the anguish in his wife's voice as he explained what was happening, his allergies ramped up another jot. Scowling at himself, he strove to get it the hell together. Neal needed him at the top of his game. Thinking rapidly, his eyes suddenly lit up with the beginnings of comprehension. The kid was meticulous. He was dangerously intelligent. He would…he would have used his last words to him carefully. Trying to claw through the emotional cloud that hung over Neal's small speech, Peter thought rapidly.

 _Remember what I said Peter….You're the only one….The only one, what?...The only person in my life that I trust…._

Those words weren't accidental. That wasn't Neal. He didn't do things on a whim, or by sheer sentiment. Peter's brow furrowed as his brain racked up into fifth gear. Where had the kid first said those words to him? His eyes widened…. _that damn clinic._ Where he'd been drugged to all hell, but when he'd finally let Peter through his carefully crafted exterior of suave nonchalance. He knew enough of the boy to know that he associated certain places or things with events in his life. With Kate, it was that damned bottle. It was Paris. What if…what if that building was what he associated with _him_?

He tried to push down the feelings of foolishness he was experiencing. He didn't have time to be picky about leads. He needed to trust his gut. And his gut was screaming and shrieking that there was a reason that Neal had chosen _those_ words. Words he _knew_ Peter would remember, and words he _knew_ the elder man would recall the location of their utterance. It was that building. There was something in that building that Neal wanted him to find.

 _There had to be….right?_

Feeling sick at the only other option, the option that Neal had chosen those words in some kind of goodbye, Peter shook his head. No, that couldn't be it. The boy… _his_ boy was no quitter. He mightn't resist arrest in a blaze of criminal affray, but he sure as hell wouldn't lie down as he was thrown in lock up for the rest of his life. There _had_ to be a secret meaning to those words he had so gently uttered. Peter turned as if being propelled by some unknown force, and like his agents before him, dashed from the building. Watching the third member of Team Burke exit the department, Hughes sat back in his chair and let out a concerned sigh. He wasn't entirely sure he'd done the right thing, but he also knew, they were going to do what they were going to do, with or without his permission.

Barrelling along in his car, Peter braced himself to break all kinds of laws and regulations. He smiled tightly at the fodder he was feeding his OPR investigation, but found…in that moment anyway, he didn't much give a damn. Bigger fish to fry and all that. Squealing along the highway, he was all too soon parking outside the shiny clinic that hadn't been graced with his presence in about two years. Gripping his credentials firmly, he pulled on a cloak of professional confidence and strode into the reception are as he if he owned the place. Landing himself in front of an indifferent looking clerk, he flashed his badge and spoke in a deeply authoritative voice.

"Agent Peter Burke, here to see Doctor Ian Robertson," he clipped, having searched the name of a random employee at the clinic on his way over. The receptionist shot him a decidedly bored look, before huffing and turning to her computer. "There is no record of an appointment on his books," she drawled, whilst examining her nails. Beyond grateful for this woman's lack of caring, Peter glared impressively. "Trust me, if you want to keep your job, you'll point me in the direction of his office. Otherwise, there won't be an open clinic here tomorrow. I assure you, the FBI tends to take criminal embezzlement, _all kinds of seriously."_

She gaped at him, displaying rather beautifully white teeth. Pointing with a shaking hand, she indicated the first flight of stairs and murmured additional directions. Nodding brusquely, Peter pocketed his creds and tilted his head. "Do not inform him that I'm on the way, if you want to be sitting there tomorrow, because I _really_ don't feel like chasing him down the halls. Understand?" She gaped some more, but nodded, already making mental plans to tell Shelly on the third floor that they were right about that _creep_ Robertson all along. Plus, there was something rather hot about this angry looking man. Shrugging her shoulders, she turned back to her nails as the agent propelled himself up the stairs.

Pulse racing and blood hopping, Peter sped along the halls in the complete opposite direction to Doctor Robertson's office. He was going to that conference room, the room where a drugged up Neal had first uttered the words that led him here. Thankful that it appeared to be a slow day, he encountered no one as he swept along. Coming across the vaguely familiar room, he exhaled deeply when he saw it was completely empty. In fact, it looked like it hadn't been used in quite a while.

Inching in the door, he ran a clinical eye over the space. If he were Neal, and he wanted to hide something, where would he do it? He rolled his eyes at himself. Like he even had to pretend, he knew the kid inside out. Starting at the opulent paintings that hung with a surprisingly thick layer of dust, he meticulously set about searching the expensive frames. He ran a practiced hand over every inch of every painting, and growled. There was absolutely nothing there, apart from money poorly spent. Running a hand through his hair in frustration, he turned to survey the remainder of the room.

That was when he spotted it.

The ventilation system behind the spot where he had handcuffed Neal to that chair. That was the _specific_ spot where he had murmured those words. Extracting a pocket knife with trembling fingers, Peter crossed the room and dropped to his knees. Deftly unscrewing the ventilation cage, he pulled it out from its fitting, and breathed in a deep, hopeful breath. If whatever it was, wasn't here, he instinctually knew he was screwed. And the words that so very much sounded like goodbye, were just that. A throwing in of the towel, and a heartfelt "see you around." Feeling a little bit sick, he threw a hand into the dark shaft and felt around.

Nothing.

His heart stilled in his chest as his fingers began scrambling around frantically. There _had_ to be _something._ There just _had_ to be. Extending his arm to the point of painfulness, he continued to grope into the unknown. Just as he was about to slump to the floor in misery based defeat, his index finger brushed against something alien to the ventilation system. He stroked the object, and exerted pressure upon it. It gave way in his grasp, and he quickly yanked it out. Staring down at the soot covered, large, bulky envelope in his hands, his heart soared. There, in Neal's familiar slanted, but perfect writing, was a message.

 _Peter, in the event of emergency, it's always helpful to have an insurance policy. If you're holding this, please cash it in. Proceed to the exchange desk, and get me the hell out of jail. Yours faithfully, Neal Caffrey._

Feeling his heart sing, the agent ripped open the envelope and frantically leafed through its contents. A breath that had been held captive in his lungs for as long as was physically possible, was slowly expelled in a staggeringly relieved gasp. As insurance policies went, this one would have the owner laughing and skipping to the bank. Sliding down against the wall, Peter shook his head in bemused exultation. _"You're never boring kid, I'll give you that,"_ he murmured to himself, as the analytical part of his mind was beginning to shudder into action. This had to be done right, or would blow up in everyone's faces. Most importantly, it would explode into Neal's. Hoisting himself up, he knew he needed to talk to the boy. To best use what he held, he needed the input of the author. To do _that_ , he needed the little guy.

Fumbling for his cell, as he sped from the building, right past the now eyebrow examining receptionist, he breathed in a gulping of fresh air. The call connected on the eighth ring, and he mumbled anxiously down the line. "Jones, any joy on getting through to Mozzie?" Listening with rapt attention, he breathed another sigh of relief. "So he's the lawyer?" he chuckled happily, clambering into his car. "Good," he said in response, "tell him that I need to get into see Neal. Right now." Pulling the car out, he waited impatiently for the response as Clinton debated on another line with the suspect legal professional.

"Peter, he says you can get in to see him, but you have to be at County within an hour. They're transferring him, and then you have to wait another day before you can see him. He's there now, and I'm on my way." Kicking the protesting car into fifth gear, Peter ended the call with Clinton, and sped along the mercifully quiet highway. His mind was wheeling as he drove, and his eyes kept a firm hold on the dashboard clock. About half an hour of tumbling thoughts and illegal driving later, he was screeching into the county jail visitor's lot.

Pushing his way passed the various checks and clearances, and snarling through the protests that a transferring prisoner couldn't be visited by anyone other than his lawyer, Peter pulled every trick in the book to get through each checkpoint. At the last one, he found a viciously arguing Mozzie outside a holding room. "He _is_ entitled to, under the conditions of his work-release programme, seek advice from his appointed handler in the event of alleged wrongdoing, and-"

Stepping around, and nudging the little guy who, for the first time seemed genuinely happy to see him, Peter flashed his badge at the irritated looking guard. "Agent Peter Burke, FBI. Neal Caffrey's handler. I don't have time for twenty questions, you can either let me in there, or you can bring down your supervisor, either way, I'm going into that room." Shooting daggers at the insolence of these freaking feds, the guard glared and jabbed at a button underneath the desk he was seated at. A large buzzing noise sounded, and the red light above the holding door suddenly turned to green. Spinning on his heel, Peter shot a grateful look at Mozzie who didn't attempt to come with him, and strode through the door.

Déjà vu slapped him cruelly in the face.

Sitting in the horribly familiar orange jumpsuit, which washed out his handsome face, was Neal, handcuffed to a sterile steal table. Feeling a little sick at the sight, Peter swept to him and squeezed his shoulders. "Hey kid," he greeted softly, sitting down opposite him, and eying him keenly. The brightness in the blue eyes was there, but the elder man knew the younger one enough to see a tinge of fear in those ocean spheres. Brilliant and sophisticated though he was, the threat of a life sentence tended to have that effect on everyone, even Caffrey.

"Hey Peter," Neal replied quietly, his senses working overtime to gauge the stance of his more-than-just-a-handler. A grin suddenly spread across his face, causing Peter to nearly pass out with relief at the familiar sight. "You didn't by any chance happen to take a little road trip before you came here, did you?" he asked with a bouncing tone, the knot in his stomach instantly lessening. _Peter had understood…like he always did._ Returning the grin with his own crooked smile, the agent nodded. "I might have…it's a nice day for a drive," he replied easily, leaning back and making a mental note that the kid looked physically unharmed after their brief hours apart and breathing another jot easier.

The two stared at each other for a moment, comprehension in both sets of eyes. An easiness born of familiarity allowing for a comfortable silence even in the circumstances and setting that surrounded them.

"You didn't run…," Peter eventually mumbled softly, his words phrased as a statement but both men knew it was a question. Nodding quietly, Neal ran a tongue over his dry lips and smiled his uncensored smile. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, and the older man waited with a patience that belied his true feelings.

"Do you remember all those… _lessons_ you beat into me, at the ahh… _Burke Academy of Trust?"_ he eventually grinned, with a twinkling gaze, his poise relaxed. Rolling his eyes at the hyperbolised question, Peter sorted before nodding.

"I've never _beaten_ you, you cheeky pup," he retorted with a calm smile, "but yes…I do," his head tilted curiously, "why's that?"

Spreading his arms, with the soft tinkling of metal against metal, Neal's eyes were full of a multitude of non verbalised emotions, each one discernible and immediately comprehended by Peter's trained, experienced gaze. He felt his heart bursting as he deciphered them, his own eyes swimming and brimming with reciprocal feelings of their silent communication.

"I guess you're looking at your newest graduate."

…

TBC

…


	9. Farewell, New York

Accepting the much appreciated, artfully selected, glass of red from a beaming Elizabeth Burke, the recently freed Neal settled deeper into the sofa. His eyes sparkled as he allowed a rather bemused Satchmo to shed vigorously all over his expensive suit. His gaze flitted around the very familiar living room, and he sighed in utter contentment.

He knew it was short lived, and so he drank it in. Like a squirrel, collecting nuts for the oncoming harshness of winter

The wild leap of faith he had taken, had paid off. He still couldn't quite get his head around it.

He had relied on someone else. Trusted someone else. Put his fate in the hands of someone else, and lived to tell the tale. Of course, the relied upon person had been _carefully_ selected. The trusted person, had spent _years_ gaining, and strengthening the bond between them. The hands that had held his fate, had been the same hands that had basically held him as he teetered on the line between straight and con.

Sure, he mightn't have particularly _appreciated_ the way those hands kept him on the straight and narrow, but still, as he scratched the panting lab behind the ears, he knew it had all been worth it. Smiling his easy smile as Peter entered the room with a beer and threw himself down beside him on the sofa, he continued to struggle in coming to terms with the easiness that rested inside him.

And with the fluidity he knew that came with it. The time that attached to it, already slipping through his fingers like water through a child's hands.

"Alright boys, Satchmo, I have to go," El announced, straightening her hair and grabbing her purse. "You," she instructed, looking firmly at Peter, " be nice to Neal, and give him anything he wants, just for tonight, you hear?" Spluttering around a mouthful of beer, Peter looked utterly askance at his wife and gave a dramatic warning jerk of the head in the grinning Neal's direction.

"Don't open those floodgates El," he muttered with a feigned frown, "we'll all drown if you do, trust me." Chuckling, she rolled her eyes and kissed her husband goodbye, before pressing a kiss down on the top of Neal's mop of hair. Looking at him sadly, she once again apologised. "I'm so sorry I have to skip out right after your dinner…this client, he's _really_ something else. Are you sure you don't mind?"

The broad, sincere grin that dazzled her was her answer. With one last answering smile of her own, she swept from the house, the soft snapping shut of the door leaving Peter, Neal and Satchmo to their own devices. Leaning back in the sofa, the elder of the two ran a searching gaze over his younger counterpart. "So, how're you adjusting to life on the outside, after your thirty three hour stint of hard time?" he joked, but with an undercurrent of actual anxiety in his tone.

Neal swirled the fruity wine absentmindedly as he considered the question. There was something he wanted to say tonight, something he had wanted to say for a long time. Well, perhaps not _wanted._ But certainly _needed._ The question that Peter had just asked, though he didn't know it, opened up the gates for the words he needed to say. Words he desperately didn't want to say, words he desperately didn't want to mean, and words he desperately didn't want to abide by.

But he knew he had to.

Taking a deep breath, he chose his opening lines carefully, knowing that the man beside him would likely replay them over and over again.

"Well…it gave me time to think….and one good thing came out of it," he replied quietly, drinking in the aroma of his favourite tipple. Throwing down beer in equal measure, Peter raised a questioning brow as he pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and loosened his tie.

"Keller," Neal answered, with a bite of venom in his tone, "his allegations…the OPR investigation…" he breathed in his deepest sigh of relief, "at least they're gone." Peter nodded fervently, once again marvelling at the kid's brilliance in putting together and guarding his insurance policy. His marvelling ended abruptly however, as Neal took another swig of wine and sighed.

"It's not over, though, Peter," he said as he ran a hand through his hair, "you can bet your bottom dollar, when it comes to Keller, it's never _over._ He'll find another way…he always does. He's ruthless, has nothing to lose and despises the pair of us." He scrubbed a hand over his face, and Peter caught the sudden sensation that this conversation was gearing towards the scripted side of things.

That this wasn't an impromptu chat. That the boy had been building up to this, and had certainly waited until his life was no longer present.

His gut instinctively churned. His Neal radar beginning to sound alarm bells.

"Neal," he murmured, but was swiftly interrupted. "Peter…you need to listen to me," the young man said with a bite of urgency, "I should have said this a long time ago, straight after Elizabeth…but I was selfish. I didn't want to think about giving up the life I was building for myself. I…was a coward."

Agent Burke's eyes all but bulged in his head as the celebratory atmosphere that had encased his living room was now utterly sucked out, as if through a vacuum.

"As long as I work with you…as long as we're partners," Neal continued, with another _overly_ generous swallowing of wine, "there's going to be a target on your back. Trust me when I tell you, that even if you think you _don't_ have skeletons in your closet, Keller will find a way to put them there."

He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"As long as this arrangement continues, he'll find a way to end you Peter, I know he will. Ever since I first met him, he's _hated_ me having something that he didn't. Could never _stand_ the idea that there could be more to life than the game. He especially couldn't stomach the idea of _me_ thinking there could be more to life than the game.

Peter blinked.

"Neal-"

He was, once again, cut off.

"I've seen it in his eyes, Peter. When we've clashed on cases, when we've danced the dance. There's a hatred for me that wasn't there before. It's not a professional envy or dislike, it's a _personal_ envy _and_ a personal dislike." He paused to throw down some more wine, savouring its fruity texture, and the slight numbness it placed upon his brain.

"We may have managed to scrape through this plan," the young man continued, a quiet, pensive tone to his voice, "but luck can only last for so long. One day, if I don't do this, our luck will run out, and… _you'll_ be the one to pay the price for it Peter. You, and El." His voice cracked a jot as he forced the words to continue flowing. "I can't have that. I can't run that risk when I _know_ there's a zero percent chance of return. I need…I need to cash out now Peter, before everyone bears the brunt of my loss."

The older man stared.

He had known all _kinds_ of confusion since he and Neal's worlds had collided. He'd known confusion so well he went to bed with it, ate breakfast with it and flossed with it. But as the kid spoke, he knew this was a new breed of confusion. Bewilderment that he hadn't experienced before, a confusion so rich it was all he could do not to swoon from it.

"Neal," he spluttered, positively _alarmed_ at how their easy going conversation had turned, "what in the _hell_ are you _talking_ about son?" The young man poured himself another dangerously generous helping of wine, and threw an alarming amount right down his throat before answering.

"Your life Peter, yours and El's _lives…_ are in danger, when they're mixed up with mine. Keller…he's changed, he's not the man I once knew. He's capable of anything, and he's obsessive, and his obsession is _me."_

Peter made once again to interrupt, and was once again, silenced.

"The only way…and trust me, it's the _only_ way….to protect you and El from him, and what he's planning, and I'm _telling_ you Peter…he's planning _something…._ is to remove the need. To remove the temptation, and put it someplace else."

Agent Burke merely shook his head, with a feeling of dread and helplessness brewing in his stomach. There was a steely glint in Neal's eyes that he had rarely seen, and he knew that what the boy was talking about was not something he'd taken out of thin air. What he was saying sang of careful consideration, of tortuous thought and debate.

"What are you saying?" he croaked out, " _Neal…_ what are you _telling_ me?"

Downing the last of his wine, the young man turned to the man who had done so much for him, and smiled his crooked smile that was coated with a pain so real, so tangible, it was a scorching visual, that caused even the seasoned agent to blink.

"I'm saying Peter…" Neal said slowly, "that I already called Hughes, and it's already arranged."

Shaking his head and setting his beer down with a thud, the older man reached out and gripped the kid's shoulders. "What is?" he demanded, feeling sick to his stomach. " _What's_ already been arranged? What have you _done,_ Neal?"

That terrifyingly sad smile shone back at him, and he blinked in its all consuming effect.

"There's an opening in DC Art Crimes, Peter… and a handler who's willing to take me on."

There was a deafening silence. So still and so tense that the walls almost seemed to shake with it.

"I leave Monday."

….

TBC

….


	10. He's Gone

"You didn't think to _mention_ that little fact to me? You didn't think to just _drop_ it into conversation? Were we too busy talking about the _weather_ for you to _remember?"_ His chest was heaving, the sound of the door clanging off the wall as he'd thrown it open, still reverberating in his ears. He felt his heart beat painfully as the look on the man's face stayed remarkably impassive. He was also acutely aware of the complete _lack_ of "what are you talking about?"

Reece stared steadily at the enraged man, his agent, his friend and sighed. He knew it would go down like this. He knew it was going to be a fight to hell and back. Which is why he needed time to think about how to broach it, but, it transpired that Caffrey had other ideas. His nostrils flared somewhat. That kid caused him so many headaches he was singlehandedly keeping his aspirin company in business.

"Peter," he eventually began, striving to keep his tone calm, "you need to control yourself. You need to shut that door, sit in that chair and speak to me with a tone that doesn't make me want to suspend your ass for the next month. You got that, or should I repeat myself? There was a stony silence as Peter glared with a look that would shake the most hardened of criminals, before striding to the door, snapping it shut and throwing himself in the allocated seat.

Hughes pursed his lips at the dramatics, but held his tongue.

"Now," he continued, as if there had been no interruption, "you were inquiring as to Caffrey's…alteration, to his work-release programme?" Peter's face took on an expression worse than the most thunderous of thunder, as he looked up with a jaw so taut it was in danger of fracturing. "You call…Neal shipping off to DC….an _alteration?"_

Hughes nodded slowly, wincing as he saw the pain in his agent's eyes. Which was always hard to take, but when it was your _favourite_ agent…well, then it got even tougher. Sighing, he ran a hand over his tired face and contemplated his next words. He correctly gauged that this one of those situations where every syllable counted.

"Neal came to me…not long ago, at all. Just before he told you I think, but you know how fast these things can be arranged, and I'm sure you know Caffrey's expertise would be in high demand in DC. He…explained to me his reservations about Keller, and…I have to say Peter, for the first time, I'm with the kid on this one."

The thunderous expression would now captivate even the most seasoned of storm chasers.

Hughes ploughed on regardless.

"Keller is about as devious and dangerous as any criminal we've come up against. He has a personal vendetta, an outright obsession when it comes to your lad. He's not going to stop. He's not Peter, you know he's not. You _barely_ skated away from that OPR investigation as it is."

He paused, his brows knitted.

"And it's a hell of job that you did, because I think we _both_ know that you wouldn't have come out it looking all that good, am I right?"

Peter, for the first time since entering the office, looked moderately to slightly sheepish. Giving a small shrug of his shoulders, he muttered something unintelligible and refused to back down. Looking back up, he couldn't help the feeling of helplessness that was engulfing him. He thought…he genuinely thought that Hughes would be against this.

Like him or not, Neal was an asset. Hughes, was all about the assets, and he _happened_ to know that he _did_ like Neal, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. Opening his mouth once more, he was at a loss.

"Peter," Hughes murmured, filling the void, "I know you care about the kid…I can _see_ that. But…you have yourself, your wife and your career to think about here. Keller, will, and you know he will, systematically take all of those three away from you, if he thinks doing so will get to Neal. He's dangerously intelligent, has nothing to lose, and all the time in the world to strew."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, the miserable expression on Peter's face cutting him more than he would ever care to admit.

"Listen, he's leaving. You need to accept that, as hard as it is. Tomorrow, he'll be on his way to DC. Now, you should go home to your wife. Just because I'm stuck here on a damned Sunday, doesn't mean you have to be."

He paused once more, the morose, slumped agent looking back at him essentially tugging on his heartstrings.

"I don't want him to go either," he mumbled, "I offered him a smoke and dagger situation, where on paper, Neal Caffrey _is_ in DC. But…he wouldn't hear of it, knew that Keller would see through it in a heartbeat…and as much as I hate to say it, he would. Peter, he would."

He stood abruptly, and strode around his desk, perching on the side of it. Looking down at the pale, jeans and sweatshirt clad Burke, he suddenly felt a pang. He knew the kid heading to DC would be upsetting for his agent, but…as he gazed at him, he realised he had underestimated just _how_ upsetting it would be.

The man, genuinely looked distraught.

"I was just getting through to him," Peter suddenly croaked, staring at his hands, "I was _just_ getting somewhere with him, and now he's going to start all over again in some new joint. He…he needs to be _here,_ Reece, with…me, with El."

He looked up with a plaintiveness that very rarely made its way across a Burke's face.

"It'll all be for nothing. He'll slip…he'll go back to who he was when I first took him out of prison. He's…he's a different person now, he's…who he _really_ is. You send him off to DC…he'll go right back to the old Neal, because that's all he'll have in a new place. Please…Reece, block it. I'll deal with Keller, if and when he needs dealing with…"

His face took on a ruddy hue.

"Just…please, stop this transfer. Put the brakes on it, now, and I'll deal with the fallout myself. Don't worry about me or El… _especially_ not El, because it was all I could do to get her to stay at home and not come down here herself."

Hughes winced at that. He'd seen Elizabeth Burke furious before, and it was _not_ pretty. He also knew well enough to know that when it came to that Caffrey boy, Mrs Burke was every bit as ferocious as the most feral momma bear. He experienced a fervent feeling of gratitude that it was the male part of the Burke duo that had come bursting into his office.

"Peter…" he replied quietly, "I'll tell you what, if the kid comes to me, and tells me he doesn't want to go anymore, then I _will_ call it off. But only if _he_ comes to me, and if _he_ wants to stay. Not you, or not El. Whatever I might have said about that boy in the beginning, he's…well, he's a fine young man now, and he came to me with a request. I said yes, and I will only take away that yes, if that's what he _really_ wants."

He looked closely at his agent, and raised a brow.

"You understand me, Agent Burke?" he demanded firmly, wishing there to be _no_ miscommunications or their ilk. There was a brief pause, as Peter looked up silently, with the cogs of his mind whirring fiercely. He inclined his head, and stood abruptly.

"Yes sir," he answered clearly, making his way to the door, "sorry to disturb your weekend." Before Reece could even reply, the door was thrown open and Agent Burke was barrelling from the building. Sighing, he slumped over to his chair and threw himself back into it. Reaching into his drawer for an aspirin, he jolted when his long suffering assistant, who was no stranger to Sunday's patched in on his line.

"Sir?"

Blinking, and throwing down the much needed medication, Hughes murmured unintelligibly in response, but the long standing Alison understood every muffled syllable. "Sir, I have an Elizabeth Burke on the line for you. She uhh…well, she sounds quite erm… _furious,_ and says if you don't take her call, she doesn't care what her husband says, she's coming to see you herself, in person."

He groaned.

" _Caffrey…"_ he thought apprehensively, as he threw down _more_ tablets, that he knew he's sorely need, " _you're not even here, and you're causing me grief…."_ Pulling himself together, and steadying himself for the onslaught, he cast a wearily wary eye to his inoffensive phone. "Patch her in then, Alison.

Meanwhile, the husband component of team Burke was currently weaving his way in and out of traffic in direct defiance of every NY traffic law known to man. Honking angrily at some joker and his damned roof top _canoe,_ he screeched past him, ignoring, magnanimously, the less than pleasant gestures he caught in the side of his eye.

His mind was keening under the weight of his thought process.

All hope, was apparently, not lost.

All he had to do, was convince Neal, and he was pretty damn good at convincing Neal, but…all he had to do was get him to see reason. To get him to _see,_ that they could deal with Keller, together. That he didn't have to go haring across the damned country in an admittedly noble and self sacrificing gesture, to protect he and El.

As much as he might grumble about him, whine about him, threaten to run away from him, Peter knew Neal was happy being his partner. Knew the kid was settling as best he could into a _normal_ life, well, as normal a life as he had ever known. Knew the boy was most at home at he and El's home.

He knew Neal didn't _want_ to leave.

He just thought, he _really_ thought, he had to.

His heart, although pained at the current situation, was bursting with pride at the extent to which Neal would go for him and El. Honking angrily at a damned buffoon who thought it was entirely acceptable to take his _time_ crossing the road, he continued to fly through the now firmly residential streets.

He had to get to Neal, and explain to him, that this problem, was not insurmountable.

…and he had less than twenty four hours to do it, after that, he knew the clock would expire and there was simply jack all Reece could do to keep the kid out of the filthy clutches of DC art crime. He accelerated firmly, and was soon whizzing into June's opulent neighbourhood.

Memories of the first time he'd found the boy here flitted through his mind, and he smiled to himself.

They'd come a hell of a long way since then.

A hell of a way.

He was only a few streets away, and he _knew,_ he just _knew_ he could get Neal to see sense. That with a long, honest conversation they could the brakes on this madness, and DC could just go to hell. Peter's jaw tightened as he thought of the discourtesy. He knew a _lot_ of people in that division, and not one of them had picked up the phone.

He would… remember that.

June's beautiful mansion came into view, and the car practically gravitated towards it. Bringing it to a grinding halt, he hopped out with a ridiculous agility, and sped up the many, many steps that led to the front door. He had a key, but he left the damned thing in the key box at home. Hammering on the door, he barely found the manners to smile at the young maid as she opened the door.

"Hi there," he smiled, with difficulty, "is June home please?"

He wanted to let her know, first, that all was not lost.

Slightly disconcerted by the pained look on the twenty something's face, he followed her at her beckoning and found himself walking into the beautiful living room. June, was indeed there, though she had her back to them, staring thoughtfully at a record collection.

"Peter Burke for you Ma'am," the girl introduced politely, before striding from the room and leaving the homeowner and guest to their own devices. Slightly concerned, Peter strode across the room. "June, is Neal upstairs? I've god good news, he doesn't have…"

He trailed off, as she turned around. Tear tracks were evident on her cheeks, and her eyes housed another healthy supply as she looked at him with a profound sadness.

"June?" Peter muttered anxiously, resting a hand on either of her shoulders.

He'd grown quite attached to the kind woman over the years, and her sadness was disturbing.

"What's the matter?" he asked gently, "if it's about Neal, don't worry, that's what I came here to-" Her loud, racking sob cut him off, and his eyes bulged. He tightened his grip on her, but before he could repeat his question, she let out a small bout of wavering, tearful speech.

"Peter…it's Neal, he's…he's _gone."_

She blinked, and tears streamed down her face.

"Three fellows from DC were here an hour ago, they took him off in a town car, with all his bags."

The tears streamed harder, as she held out the kid's anklet, which Peter took from her in numb fingers.

"He told me to give you this."

…..

TBC

….


	11. The Unwelcome Welcome

Neal sat between the two DC agents as they talked about him as if he weren't there. This was partially true, because his slim body might have been wedged between much beefier counterparts, but his mind…was in New York. Guilt engulfed him as he failed to push away the image of Peter's face when he eventually turned up at June's. He tried, and failed to banish June's tearful face and her equally tearful pleading as he had struggled through his goodbye. His heart ached when he thought of El and her expression when Peter came home.

The only thing that was keeping him sane was the fact that it was all for their own good. Him being as far away as a federal work-release programme could allow for, was for their own good. He knew it would only be a matter of hours before word of his relocation trickled through to an incarcerated Keller, and his protective plan would be worth it. He remained quiet as the car continued on its incredibly long drive. It was a testament to how deep his train of thought was that a quip about not being worth air miles didn't even occur to him.

In fact, he hadn't uttered more than a "hello," since he'd clambered into the car hours ago. But now the car was slowing down outside of an unmistakably federal building, and he was being prodded and poked. Not even having the energy or care to scowl or protest, Neal allowed himself to be manhandled by less than mannerly agents all the way into what he assumed was his new "office," and through copious amounts of security checks. He stifled a sigh at the way all checkpoint operator's stared at him in askance doubt. The ones back home were used to him now, and he had enjoyed carefree banter with them in the mornings.

He instantly knew there would be no banter with this new motley crew.

They were officiously banter-less.

He was propelled none too gently forward, through a labyrinth of halls and doors before eventually coming to standstill outside a large mahogany panelled office. One of the agents knocked, and Neal instantly noted that it was a timid, hesitant knock. Clearly…the occupant of his office commanded either respect or fear, and Neal didn't need to be the people reader he was to know it was the latter. Another sigh was stifled.

Great.

His new boss was a dick.

A barked "in," echoed out from behind the door, and the nameless, faceless agent pushed it open before pushing Neal through it. He and his counterpart edged in just enough behind him to be visible, before a very quiet "Neal Caffrey for you sir," was murmured, and a dismissive wave sent both scattering for the hills. Feeling the gust of wind at their exit settle around his neck, Neal got his game fact out of the bag and slapped it on.

And it took every ounce of effort he had.

The man in front of him…was, for a start, ill mannered. He had his back to his new arrival as he scanned a file, and gave no indication to enter any further or to sit. A power play. An obvious establishment of "me king, you serf," and in another era, perhaps this would have irked Neal. Now…he found he didn't really give a damn. There was nothing about this man he would like, even if he were the most likeable son of a bitch in the world.

Because he wasn't Peter.

And in that moment, all Neal desperately wanted, was Peter.

Eventually turning, the as of yet nameless man waved a supercilious hand at an awaiting chair.

Smiling pleasantly and somehow ignoring the shrieking protest of his facial muscles, Neal sat gracefully and crossed his legs. He might not want to be here, hell he _really_ didn't want to be here…but the fact of the matter was, that he _was_ there. And he had to make the best of a bad situation, however catatonic he felt about in the present. He watched silently as stubby fingers adorned with an ostentatious class ring clasped under, and supported a beefy chin. Small, set too close together pale blue eyes scanned his person, and a sceptical brow was raised.

"You're Neal Caffrey?" the man eventually barked, apparently deciding that introductions and the like were for lesser beasts. Blinking but recovering quickly, Neal inclined his head politely. "The one and only," he smiled, finding it hard to keep the sentiment there. Snorting somewhat, and giving the new arrival the distinct impression of an irritable dragon, the man turned to his computer and laboriously began typing.

Neal bit back another sigh.

A techno dinosaur.

Wonderful.

"You're young," the agent eventually shot, as if it were the most dire of accusations. Still keeping the pleasant smile in place, Neal nodded slowly. "I suppose I am," he agreed politely, wondering briefly if this guy was actually an agent or just a really bored janitor. "Hmm," the older man scowled, abusing his keyboard once more.

"I'm Agent David Klein."

Finally, a name.

"Nice to meet you David."

A stunned stare.

"You mean… nice to meet you _sir."_

Neal blinked.

"Peter always let me call him…Peter." It was out of his mouth, in a hurt tone before he could stop it and he flushed in the immediate wake of his words. The askance look across the desk and the thinly veiled tutting were hard to take. "Do I _look_ like this _Peter_?" Agent Klein shot in disgust. Shaking his head firmly, Neal kept silent.

This man was _the_ most un-Peterish man he had ever met.

And he already hated him.

"Then you will address me as I tell you, you got that?"

Neal swallowed.

"Yes sir."

Nodding stiffly the agent sighed as if he were being terribly burdened, and reached into his desk. Withdrawing what the younger man instantly recognised as a boxed anklet. Throwing into the unsuspecting arms, Neal managed to catch it. "That's already loaded with a one mile radius, put it on," Agent Klein instructed coolly. Staring down at it, the loss of a mile of freedom hit home hard.

Deciding it would be futile to mention the decrease, because the smug smile on the man's face let him know that he most certainly _knew_ of the decrease, Neal obediently opened the box and clipped on the identical anklet that he had worn in NY. There were no keys to open it, it was already opened. This told Neal that the level of trust between he and this Agent Klein was in the minuses.

"You report to me," the older man clipped out when the anklet was blinkingly in position. "You do as I say, at all times. You do not report to anyone else, liaise with any other department or solicit cases on your own." He paused to knock back some coffee. "I've heard rumours of how things were run in NY," he continued, narrowing his piggy eyes in Neal's direction, "so let's just get one thing straight, I…believe in being a _proper and proficient_ boss…not a namby pamby _best buddy's_ kind of boss."

This…elicited Neal's first scowl.

"Agent Burke…was a great boss," he retorted coldly, "with a loyal and effective team under him."

The smile that spread across the man's face was disgustingly gloating in nature.

"Well, well," he muttered, "I guess the rumours _were_ true. You and this Burke were a proper little Starsky and Hutch, huh? Well…I don't give a damn. This is DC, not NY. We run things differently here. And I run things _my_ way. And _my_ way is…you don't speak, until spoken to. You are not an agent, you are not a colleague. You are federal property, a fixed asset…to be used as and when I please. Now, is all of that getting through that pretty head of yours?"

Neal felt his heart drop somewhere on the floor.

But he didn't look down for it.

Now…now was the time when the con was the only life raft he had.

Plastering his most charming of smiles on his face, he nodded slowly. "Crystal clear sir," he answered clearly. Staring for a moment, before appearing satisfied and slightly disappointed there had been no fight that he could brag about to his colleagues, Agent Kline once again rummaged around his desk. Withdrawing a beefy folder, he tossed it across to Neal.

"Terms and conditions of your work-release programme," he clipped, "you may find they are ahh…distinctly different from your Big Apple days. For example, you're not going to be staying in a mansion under _my_ watch, oh no. There is a small motel down the road from here, questionable hygiene and security…but a damned good view of the local dump. That's your new home."

He paused for a moment.

"You might want to buy a plant, brighten the place up."

He paused for another moment.

"There is also a list of known persons of interest that you are not to have _any_ interaction with. Which _includes_ your on and off little girlfriend, something… Hunter or other…and that bald freak. Yes, we know all about them…" he continued gloatingly, "and should you breathe the same _air_ as them, you're done Caffrey."

He leaned forward and the glint of malice in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Understand this, Caffrey…you…are the best criminal for the job boy," he muttered darkly, "but you _are_ a criminal, and that's how I'm going to treat you. Like a light fingered, unscrupulous, opportunistic dog. You can forget about being pals with me like your _precious_ Burke. You step one toe out of line, and I'll toss you back in jail so fast it'll make your hair frizz. You're a great criminal, but you're not the only lawless toe rag in the pond. You're not indispensible. You should know that."

Across the other side of the desk, Neal, con-man that he was, was struggling to keep it together.

He had known this move would be bad.

But he clearly had possessed no idea _how_ bad.

Visions of Peter's face swam in his mind, and he blinked fiercely. This was _for_ Peter…and El, it was to keep them safe. He had to…just deal with it. He had to deal with the obvious loathing for him that was pouring off this man. He had to deal with the looks of contempt and distrust he knew would dog him wherever he went in the building. He had to deal with the loss of half his radius, and contact with his closest friends.

He just…had to deal.

For them.

To keep them safe.

…it was worth it.

Settling back in his chair, his new… _master_ waved a ringed hand. "Now…get out of my sight," he instructed, "ask…what's her name at the desk out there for an escort to your new accommodation. The work day starts at 8 am _sharp,_ you arrive before then or you'll understand what it is to piss me off. Any attempt to violate your radius, and I'll make sure you see the inside of a cell before the sun goes down. You say a word that I don't like, and I'll make sure there's an indentation of your ass at your desk chair from the time I'll make you spend riding it."

He looked up and smiled widely.

"This is your new beginning Caffrey, do embrace it, won't you?"

The smile slipped and the ugly contempt shone through every pore of the sagging skin.

"Now get out."

Staggering to his feet, his head swooning with recent revelations about his new life, the young man made it to the door without a backwards glance. Not even bothering to smile at the decidedly sour Pamela, who organised transportation whilst guarding her desk like a hound…he felt dejection wash over him. This…relocation, was about as bad as it could be. He knew the hatred Klein held for him was an overall hatred of offenders.

He knew that would never change.

That as long as he was forced into the man's grasp, he would be treated with loathing and contempt.

The anklet, that never really bothered him in NY, seemed to weigh a seismic tonne. It seemed to crush his ankle bone with its oppressive weight as he stood in the bright corridor. Neal had never really had a home, and so he had never known what it was to be homesick. But as he stood…he suddenly felt the yearning for home storm throughout him like a burst dam.

He wanted home.

He wanted Peter and El, Mozzie and June. He wanted Jones and Diana. He wanted his loft apartment, with his books and red wine. He wanted the familiar sounds of the pigeons roosting on his balcony. He wanted…to go home.

And he knew he never could.

Ever.

Not even when his sentence was up, for Keller didn't believe in time served. To him, a debt was an eternal one…and if Neal were to break bread with the Burkes, he would find out. And it would cost Peter and El a price that Neal wasn't willing for them to pay. So no, he couldn't go home…and thus he found himself once again, homeless.

Not in the physical sense, though this motel sounded most ominous.

But in the emotional sense…his roots, his new found grounding in life….they were gone.

And they could never be retrieved.

"They're _here_ now, might you deign to _move?"_ Blinking as Pamela's biting tone cut through his reverie, Neal turned to see the same agents that escorted him in, waiting to escort him out. The three exchanged dire looks of disgust. "Mind he doesn't steal the car out from under you Roy," the receptionist warned in contempt, to be greeted with a snort of equal contempt.

Walking after them with a heavy heart, her "I don't know what the world is coming to, being forced to work with such… _filth,"_ resounded in his skull. She may be a more outspoken proponent of his lack of worth, but Neal knew the people who flitted by all thought the same thing. He caught all their loaded looks and their whispered conversations.

To them, he was a criminal.

Back in NY, he was just…Neal.

And as he walked into the parking lot, the new arrival knew that would never change. These people weren't willing to give him the chance the NY branch had. They hadn't studied him, they didn't know who he was or his story. He was just…a criminal encyclopaedia. To be opened and cast aside at will. Clambering back into the car, and gazing out the window, Neal was struck by the most miserable of miserable thoughts.

He had nowhere to go, when his sentence was up.

Nothing to look forward, and nothing to keep him going.

Nothing.

A considerable distance away there was an appreciable bout of _nothing_ being spoken. Sitting on one side of the cool, metal bench, it was all Peter could do to keep his hands to himself. The smug, cloyingly self satisfied expression of an orange jumpsuit adorned Keller as he stared back at him was enough to break any man's restraint. But…he couldn't.

This was for Neal.

He couldn't afford to lose his temper.

It would be an unaffordable cost.

"Agent Burke," the younger man murmured after a brief staring match, "not that I'm not _thrilled_ to see you…but, to what do I owe this distinct pleasure?"

Feeling both his arms and his eyes twitch in raw anger, Peter drew in a ridiculously deep breath.

"I'm here to talk about Neal."

Keller's eyes widened.

"Oh? And what about your _darling_ Neal? You want some advice on how to train him? He was my puppy before he was yours you know…I'd be glad to be of assistance."

Another deep, soothing breath was sucked in as Peter strained to remain calm.

"I'm here to talk about a deal, Keller."

Matthew smirked.

"…And just what kind of deal would that be?"

There was a silence as a loss was keenly felt and words were struggled for.

"One that brings Neal home."

….

TBC

….

A/N: Thoughts?

(Also, sorry for the delay in posting….life's been super crazy recently!)

-Inks 


	12. Homecoming

Keller grinned a devilish grin, which if he had perhaps been even a jot less manic would have rendered him quite handsome. Leaning back, he knew he was in control of this meet. The sheep had well and truly come into the lion's den…and what a delicious sheep it was. Of course, it was tantalising and thrilling to mess with Caffrey. The outwitting of each other had been the thrill, back in the day. Now…that thrill had been replaced with a leaden rage and bitterness. All that Neal had, Matthew coveted.

Like a child with a toy…he had outgrown sharing and turned to all encompassing envy.

He had the girl. Any girl of his choosing. He had the deal that was practically unheard of. He had the mansion on a peasant's housekeep. He had…the family. Neal had always been able to ingratiate himself into any setting with a chameleon like affinity. But as Keller had observed from the sidelines, he knew it was more than that when it came to his foray into the family of Burke. He belonged there. The man's presence across from him now proved that in itself. As he sat there Matthew knew that if he were to be struggling over his last breath, no one would come.

Because he had no one.

And it made him loathe Neal all the more.

"Well, you came to me Burke," he taunted slowly, teeth gleaming, "perhaps you should…shall we say, pitch your sale? Because, from where I'm sitting…I don't have much to lose. So if you're planning a little shake down routine, you really shouldn't bother. On the other hand…if all that _math_ skill you apparently have hasn't slipped away from all those years of dragging your puppy around, maybe we can talk." The teeth flashed again, a feral snarl accompanied with a nonchalant shrug. "Or maybe not…maybe I just want to watch you _squirm_ Agent Burke."

He laughed then, his maniacal joviality causing the hairs on Peter's neck to jump to attention.

"Who knows," the younger man spluttered, "they say I have err…sociopathic tendencies. Can you believe that Burke? Me, a _sociopath?_ Personally I think I'm positively adorable, your little protégée sure used to think so. Used to look up to me, you know? Used to pool those eyes at me to teach him what I knew…" his face grew hard then and Peter's stomach clenched. "But you know how it goes…the student always outgrows the teacher…they move on…"

He shot an utterly incomprehensible look across the table.

"I guess he moved on to you, huh? He should have moved on years ago, to another… _educator._ But there seems to be something about you Peter. Something he's drawn to. Something he clings like a little girl to. So…I'm sure you can understand, my base instinct is to take it away. I mean that's reasonable, isn't it? I'm not a _maniac,_ no matter what they tell me. I got a beef with your boy because he made it so. So…fun and all as this conversation could have been, I'm actually a busy man and I feel like I ought to be honest with you here…"

He flipped his head to the side and the deep, raw anger that burned within, suddenly burned outwith.

"Your precious little Neal? He is _never_ coming home."

With one last demonic chortle, Keller made to rise from his chair with a gracious bow. And that was when Peter laid his cards on the table. Speaking only his second sentence for the first time of their locked up meeting, he stalled the criminal's gate with a burning gaze. In contrast to the fire that crackled in the dark eyes, his voice was velvety smooth, dripping in a controlled calmness.

"I know about your mother, Matthew."

The stillness that instantly felt the room was so cool, so clinical that somehow an odd hint of sterility seemed to waft up both agent's and criminal's noses. Both were instantly playing a role now, determined to out-act the other. Keller, to his credit, recovered from the shock of a lifetime with a naturally dramatic flair. Turning back to eye a calmly staring Peter, he arched a brow slowly. "What madness is this you speak ok, Agent Burke?" he cooed slowly, "my mother, bless her heart, has been with her maker for _quite_ some time now."

Peter allowed an unusually callous smile to cross his face.

"I don't think so Matthew," he countered slowly, "you see… _I_ think that your unfortunate creator is very much above ground. I think that she is under the thumb of a criminal enterprise that make even _your_ bones shake at night. I think she was taken from her home in the very leafy Connecticut…oh say, two years ago now. I think she has been used by the Russian mob to control your every movement, your every heist…your every _breath."_

He paused then, allowing himself to drink in the dripping and slipping of the mask in front of him.

"How am I doing Keller?" he asked quietly, "am I hitting the nail on the head?" Looking up in a bout of thoughtfulness, Peter sighed loudly. " _Nails_ …now that I mention it, they're a staple of Russian interrogation aren't they? They're quite old school like that, and if my education serves me correctly…I believe they often dip the rustiest nails into the strongest of acid before hammering them into their victim's hands.

He feigned a shudder.

"Nasty business, really unfortunate stuff. How many nail marks do you think mommy has, Matthew?"

The mask was melting away as Keller slumped into the seat he had so briefly vacated in false victory. His pulse was throbbing dangerously close to the surface of his skin and a sheen of sweat was coating his face as he struggled to remain calm. That this, his most well kept and equally most devastating secret had been exposed by a bumbling FBI bean counter…was horrifying. There were no people in the world that he loved. In the plural sense. But there was _one person_ that he did love. That he would do anything for. That he had _been_ doing _everything_ for.

And that was Yvonne Keller.

Aka, Mom.

He sucked in a choked breath, trying and failing to slap a smug smile of deflection on his face. He had underestimated this Burke, he knew that in the instant they locked eyes over the table. It was his fatal error and he knew it could be the unravelling of all if he didn't play his cards right. Her life…literally depended on his hand and what he did with it. The extremes the man would have had to gone to unearth the trail that led to the door of a barbaric, unsophisticated and yet dangerously lethal mob were extreme. The favours that would have to be pulled in were innumerable.

And yet…somehow, he'd managed it.

Despite the fear he felt for his mother and the bruising he felt to his ego, Keller felt for a moment a profound sadness. That Neal had someone like this…willing to do something like this, made him realise just how very empty his life was. Yvonne may be his mother, and he may be a devoted son…but she was certainly not a devoted mother. He had been dragged up through the streets and sheets of many a city and boarding house. He was a tool for money garnering to his mother, not a child to be cherished. And yet still…he yearned for her validation, for her love. Had he fully submitted and cooperated to a psychological evaluation the devastatingly unhealthy relationship Matthew and Yvonne Keller shared would serve as a roadmap for the man's life choices.

"What do you want?"

His words were inflectionless. He was slipping back into his role, because he knew nothing else. He had to treat this like a game of strategy, or whatever ill had already befallen his mother in the two years he'd only been granted pictures of her, would get a lot worse. And fast. He watched mutely as the older man pulled a file from his briefcase and slid it across the metal surface.

"I already told what I want. I want Neal. I want him home, and I want him home now."

Keller snatched the file from the desk, and shot a cursory look of disdain over at Peter. "You'd almost think he was your _very_ own little _prince_ the way you carry on Burke," he managed to sneer, "you realise he has a daddy right? And it's not _you."_

Peter merely ignored that jibe as he waited for comprehension to dawn.

Matthew paled as he glanced down at the file, before devouring the contents with burning eyes. He turned a shocked, and rapidly disbelieving face to the agent in the room, hardly daring to believe it. "You can get her out?" he croaked, "This…isn't a trick? Whatever you think of me…she's a civilian, in danger. You're a lawman. You can't…you _can't…_ bait me at her expense…right?"

Peter shook his head slowly.

"No," he agreed, "I can't. And I think you're one of the lowest creatures to walk this earth. I think you deserve the spend the rest of your life exactly where you're sitting. I think you're beyond rehabilitation, and the rest of your miserable existence should be about containing you from the world. But…you're right on one score. I am a lawman. And your mother, colourful though she may be… _is_ a victim. A victim of _your_ creation I might add, but all in all no…this isn't a trick."

He shot a sombre look across the bow.

"I can get her out."

Sucking in a deep breath, he went for the kill shot.

"Her for Neal. It's your call. Take it or leave it."

Keller studied him for a moment then. His ability to read people was up there with Neal's, and he took his time analysing every line of Peter's face. Every tensing and relaxing of his muscles. Everything. Images of his mother's freedom stormed his mind and he found himself being less and less conscious about the decision he was making. She was his one weak spot, and Burke had found it. The one part he could press on and get a reaction.

"I have your word?"

Peter's nod was instantaneous and genuine.

"You have my word. I can have men in her location within the hour."

Keller exhaled slowly. This was a deal he had never expected to be brokered, and yet…it was the best possible outcome. It was the only alternative that could stem his vendetta against Caffrey and pull him back into a clear perspective. He gnawed his lip for a moment, loathe to trust a badge but knowing his options were pitifully limited. He didn't think the man would cross him when his pet poodle was on the line, but he'd been around long enough to know nothing was certain.

But it was his mother, and he had to take the chance.

"I assume you want my word that if you release my mother, I'll turn state's evidence against the mob…disappear into WitSec and never bother you or your precious labradoodle again, or somehow, somewhere along the line my location would _magically_ be _leaked_ to said mob?" Peter managed a stiff smile. He may be a murderously devious son of a bitch, but he was intuitive, this cretin. "Pretty much," he agreed, "of course mommy dearest will have to consent to WitSec also for it to work, but I'm sure she can be persuaded to alter her accommodations from where they currently are, right?"

Keller managed a glare.

"I should think so."

Nodding, Peter rose. Keller mirrored his movements and stared at him out of burning eyes. "What's so special about him?" The question was quiet, and seemed genuinely thoughtful. The agent ran a gaze over what he now realised was a shell of a ruthless criminal and sighed. "He's everything you're not Keller, he's everything you're not."

He didn't look back as the cell door clanged behind him.

He'd gotten what he came for.

Thundering through the security checks with an indecent haste, he was soon breathing in fresh air as he scrambled for his car in the lot. He had overcome the first hurdle, clearing the way back home for Neal. The second hurdle, forcing DC to _let_ a walking, talking anti-criminal asset _come_ home…wasn't going to be a walk in the park. Through a mountain of favours he'd tracked down Neal's new handler, and he knew his history.

It made his stomach turn.

Agent David Klein was a notorious, sanctimonious, self serving asshole. He was everything in an agent and a leader that Peter despised. He knew he himself could be tough on Neal, but he had nothing but the boy's best interests at heart. David Klein on the other hand, would leach every last fibre of resourcefulness from Neal with threats, intimidation and a complete disregard for his well being. The very thoughts of the kid being tied up with the likes of Klein forced the whites of Peter's knuckle's to show as he drove through the busy streets.

He knew if he kept driving at this moderate to illegal speed, he'd get to DC before Agent Klein knocked off for the day. He knew that the man kept sparse hours, another thing he didn't like about him and that in all probability Neal wouldn't be at the office. He'd be settling into some hovel or other. His jaw set into a grim line as he squealed through a green light that the boy would be sleeping in his bed in his room at home with he and El before the night was out.

A couple of hours later, haggard from the long drive and general exhaustion, and he was pulling up outside the DC branch. He used his creds to sweep through the clearances, and forced himself to appear at ease as he talked his way up to David's floor. Glancing at his watch, he saw it was five forty five pm. He had about fifteen minutes before the man strolled home to his third wife. He needed to make those fifteen minutes count.

He seized the opportune moment when a haughty looking secretary stationed outside a thick door proclaiming the office of Agent Klein, took a moment to powder her nose. Sweeping past her unoccupied desk, he knocked smartly on the door and entered without being summoned. The lounging occupant behind the desk looked up from what appeared to be a golfing magazine in irritation. "Who're you?" he growled by way of introduction, "who let you in here?"

Peter held up a hand.

"I'm Agent Peter Burke, NY White Collar Division."

There was a sticky, immediate silence. Each man eyed each other, sizing their counterparts up. Beady eyes drank in the visitor's appearance. David may be work shy, but he had a natural read on people that rivalled even Neal's. Staring boorishly at a much younger, slimmer agent he felt his lips curl upwards. This was a man on a mission. And this was a man who _cared_ about his mission. And David knew as well as he knew his own name, the mission was that smooth talking, perfect hair sporting boy.

"And what can I do for you, Agent Peter Burke of the NY White Collar Division?"

Not even looking at the chairs in front of the desk, Peter remained rooted to his spot. "I think you know," he answered quietly, "but in the interests of expediency let me lay my cards on the table." He took a deep breath. "I want Neal. I want you to reassign back into my charge. I want you to call on your top brass, and I know you have that kind of sway, and insist that you want him returned to NY with me. Today."

The chuckle was as menacing as Keller's.

"And why, pray tell, would I do that?"

Peter hesitated. This was the awkward part. He had no dirt on this man, he had no leverage. He was barging onto his turf and demanding things he couldn't demand. And so he had no choice but to bargain. He didn't know what he could offer this man, but he was willing to offer him anything. Running a hand through his hair he felt his heart racing.

"I'll do whatever you want in return."

Agent Klein laughed softly. He had to admire, however grudgingly, this man's willingness to play on an uneven keel. Truth be told, the boy was an asset. He would up their figures, which would make him look good. And David really, really liked to look good. But like he had told the lad, there were other informants that he could choose from. He had major pull. He outranked this Agent Burke, and they both knew it. But…he didn't really care for Caffrey. He grated on him, even their short introduction told him that.

This man, this Peter had spoiled him. He expected, and had clearly been treated like an agent, like he was actually a part of something. So straight of the bat David considered him sullied, tainted. It would take years of hard work and degradation to reduce that lad into the subservient "yes man," that he wanted. The boy's confidence and obvious air of having been well cared for had irritated him from the second they'd met. So…all in all, he wouldn't bat an eye about kicking Caffrey to the curb. But…he may as well get something in return.

Seller's market, and all that.

"And what could I possibly want from you?"

For a moment, a deflated look crossed Peter's face and if he'd had it in him, Klein would have felt a moment's sorrow for the man. But he didn't, and so he didn't. "I'll do whatever it takes," the younger man murmured sincerely, "I don't care. Whatever it takes. Neal…doesn't belong here. He has a family, and a home back in NY. You have your pick of informants…but he's not just an informant to me, alright? So whatever you want, it's yours. Just… _please,_ let Neal out of this deal. Let him come home with me now."

This time…a small stab of sorrow _did_ find its way into Klein's heart.

This man looked like he'd lost a frigging son or something. Suddenly seeing that it was nearly six o clock and feeling the urge to bolt from his office he sighed loudly. "You got any math skills, Burke?" Slightly wrong footed by this question, Peter managed to recover and nod. "Majored in it in college, why?" Smiling smugly, Klein raised a brow. He could have paid someone to do it, he had plenty of money. But…he wanted _something_ in return for the deal he was brokering, and frankly he felt the man was doing him a favour by taking his spoiled poodle home with him.

He needed a Rottweiler that no one had ever loved.

Not a treasured family member that slept upstairs instead of outside in a kennel.

He really needed to stop thinking about people as dogs. His therapist said it was unhealthy.

Jerking back to the present, he made a show of sighing with a dramatic graciousness. "You can take your precious Caffrey home, and I'll release him from my service with one phone call on _one_ condition." Peter didn't hesitate as he felt relief explode within him. He nodded instantly. Whatever it was, he would do it.

"I need someone to tutor my moron of a son in remedial math. Every weekend for the next three months so I can ship him off to college as far away as possible. Of course, I'm a fair man. I'll send him your way, you needn't make the commute. But I want assurances that he'll scrape the grade to get the hell out of my house for next semester. How's that for a deal?"

Peter blinked.

He couldn't imagine _ever_ speaking about Neal in the way this man spoke about his own child. Disgust filled him, but he carefully kept it off his face. This was as a good a deal as he could hope for. Somehow, someway he'd get Klein Junior the grade his father wanted. Even if it killed him. He nodded firmly. "Deal."

Picking up the phone, Klein jerked his head towards the door. "Good. Then get out. You will find the address of Caffrey from my receptionist. Take him, and get out of my city. I'll be in contact soon about the tuition." With that, he punched numbers into the keypad with his stubby fingers as Peter raced from the room, hardly daring to believe his luck. Prying an address from an irate secretary, he flew from the building. Tapping it into his GPS when he reached his car, he raced through the beginnings of heavy traffic. Ten minutes later, he wound up outside the most heinous looking dump he'd ever seen.

He thanked god he was here to take Neal home, and not bring a house warming gift.

Barrelling his way into the dwelling and up to the third floor, he was soon hammering at a barely there, door. There was no answer or movement for a moment, as he stood with his heart thumping against his chest. There was no peephole in the door and he wondered was the kid too afraid to answer an unknown caller. But before he could knock once more, it slowly creaked open revealing a solitary blue eye that instantly set Peter's heart at somewhat of an ease.

The door and eye widened simultaneously.

Before being thrown open.

Standing there, Neal hardly dared believe his eyes. A smiling Peter, a happy Peter…on his doorstep. Blinking, he drank in the man's appearance, as if trying to assess was he real or not. Deciding to help him along, Peter offered a gentle "hey buddy."

Neal blinked again.

"What are you doing here?" he eventually croaked, "if Keller finds out-"

Peter raised a hand.

"I've dealt with Keller," he explained softly, "we have an agreement. He has something he wants…and I…I have something I need."

Neal gaped.

"You…dealt with him? You're sure?" If it had of been anyone else, Neal would have demanded specifics, assurances in writing…the whole nine yards. But…with Peter, if he said he'd dealt with it…he believed him.

Peter nodded firmly.

"I'm sure."

Relief had barely started to crash through him, when it was turned up to tsunami levels. "Say kid, I know this place is just bespoke and _edgy_ and all…but to me, it looks like a hellhole. What do you say I take you home, where it's less likely we'll be stabbed for a loaf of bread? El's making your favourite, if we leave now you'll have time to eat before you crash out."

Neal stared.

"But…but my deal, I'm here now with…with Klein and-"

"I've dealt with him too. He knows, and we have his blessing. And his insistences that we leave his town as quick as possible. So…if you want, I can explain more in the car. But for right now bud, I'd really like to get you home."

There was a silence for a moment as each man stared at each other.

"Home?" Neal echoed faintly, hope brimming in him like a sparkling stream.

"Home," Peter repeated firmly, "where you _belong."_

"You're not mad at me?"

The elder man shook his head with a firmness that was astonishing.

"I've never been less mad with you. I'm proud of you. For what you were willing to do, willing to sacrifice for El and I. I'm…proud as hell, Neal, proud as all hell."

The two stared at each for another moment.

Before Peter was knocked backwards with the force of the torso that now clutched his chest. Sighing in relief, he wrapped his arms around Neal, his face buried in his chest, and breathed contentedly into his mop of thick hair. It was over now, their ordeal. No doubt more challenges would face them, they always did. But…with Neal home, they could face them together.

As a family.

And that was all he ever wanted.

…

FIN

…

A/N: Decided to leave Peter and Neal here! I may write more of them someday, but for now they're content!

(I finished this on lunch and won't be near my laptop for the rest of the night, so didn't have time to edit for mistakes if I wanted to post it today. I'll double back and sort them out if there are any later, apologies!)

-Inks


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